7h<-,  .jVeKTUKf^  "N 


r 


BY 


OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  ANN 


STORIES   OF   COLONIAL   TIMES 


BY 

MARY    E.  WILKINS 


FROM    ORIGINAL    DOCUMENTS    AND 
FAMILY   TRADITIONS 


BOSTON 

D.     LOTHROP     AND    COMPANY 

FRANKLIN    AND    HAWLEY    STREETS 


Copyright,  1886, 

by 

D.    LoTHROP  &  Company. 


5i807997 


F 


•       • 


CONTENTS. 
I. 

The  Bound  Girl      ... 

II. 
Deacon  Thomas  Wales'  Will        .        .        29 

III. 
The  Adopted  Daughter         ...        49 

IV. 
The  "Horse-House"  Deed    ...        72 


STORIES    OF   COLONIAL 
TIMES. 


THE    BOUND    GIRL. 

THIS  Indenture  Wittnesseth,  That  I  Margaret 
Burjust  of  Boston,  in  the  County  of  Suffolk 
and  Provuice  of  the  Massachusetts  Bay  in  New 
England.  Have  placed,  and  by  these  presents  do 
place  and  bind  out  my  only  Daughter  whose  name 
is  Ann  Ginnins  to  be  an  Apprentice  unto  Samuel 
Wales  and  his  wife  of  Braintree  in  the  County 
afores:*^,  Blacksmith.  To  them  and  their  Heirs 
and  with  them  the  s:"^  Samuel  Wales,  his  wife  and 
their  Heirs,  after  the  manner  of  an  apprentice  to 
dwell  and  Serve  from  the  day  of  the  date  hereof 
for  and  during  the  full  and  Just  Term  of  Sixteen 
years,  three  months  and  twenty-three  day's  next 
ensueing  and  fully  to  be  Compleat,  during  all  which 
term  the  s  :  '^  ai^prentice  her  s  :  '^  Master  and  Mistress 
faithfully  Shall  Serve,  Their  Secrets  keep  close, 
and  Lawful  and  reasonable  Command  everywhere 
gladly  do  and  perform. 

Damage  to  her  s  :  '^  Master  and  Mistress  she  shall 
not  willingly  do.     Her  s  :  ^  Master's  goods  she  shall 
not  waste,   Embezel,  purloin  or  lend  unto  Others 
7 


8  STORIES   OF   COLONIAL   TIMES. 

nor  suffer  the  same  to  be  wasted  or  purloined. 
But  to  her  power  Shall  discover  the  Same  to  her 
s:^  Master.  Taverns  or  Ailhouss  she  Shall  not 
frequent,  at  any  unlawful  game  She  Shall  not 
play,  Matrimony  she  Shall  not  Contract  with  any 
persons  during  s  :  ^  Term.  From  her  master's  Ser- 
vice She  Shall  not  at  any  time  unlawfully  absent 
herself.  But  in  all  things  as  a  good  honest  and 
faithful  Servant  and  apprentice  Shall  bear  and 
behave  herself,  During  the  full  term  afores  :  ^  Com- 
mencing from  the  third  day  of  November  Anno 
Dom;  One  Thousand,  Seven  Hundred  fifty  and 
three.  And  the  s:^  Master  for  himself,  wife,  and 
Heir's,  Doth  Covenant  Promise  Grant  and  Agree 
unto  and  with  the  s  -.^  apprentice  and  the  s  :^  Mar- 
garet Burjust,  in  manner  and  form  following. 
That  is  to  say.  That  they  will  teach  the  s  :*^  appren- 
tice or  Cause  her  to  be  taught  in  the  Art  of  good 
housewifery,  and  also  to  read  and  write  well. 
And  will  find  and  provide  for  and  give  unto  s  :  ^  ap- 
prentice good  and  sufficient  Meat  Drink  washing 
and  lodging  both  in  Sickness  and  in  health,  and 
at  the  Expiration  of  S  :  *^  term  to  Dismiss  s  :  '^  appren- 
tice with  two  Good  Suits  of  Apparrel  both  of 
woolen  and  linnin  for  all  parts  of  her  body  (viz) 
One  for  Lord-days  and  one  for  working  days  Suit- 
able to  her  Quality.  In  Testimony  whereof  I 
Samuel  Wales  and  Margaret  Burjust  Have  Inter- 
changably  Sett  their  hands  and  Seals  this  Third 
day  November  Anno  Dom:  1753,  and  in  the 
twenty  Seventh  year  of  the  Reign  of  our  Soveraig'n 
Lord  George  the  Second  of  great  Britain  the  King. 
Signed  Sealed  &  Delivered. 
In  presence  of 

Sam  Vaughan  Margaret  Burgis 

Mary  Vaughan  her  X  mark." 


THE   BOUND   GIRL.  9 

This  quaint  document  was  carefully  locked  up, 
with  some  old  deeds  and  other  valuable  papers, 
in  his  desk,  by  the  "  s :  *^  Samuel  Wales,"  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty  years  ago.  The  desk  was  a  rude, 
unpainted  pine  affair,  and  it  reared  itself  on  its 
four  stilt-like  legs  in  a  corner  of  his  kitchen,  in  his 
house  in  the  South  Precinct  of  Braintree.  The 
sharp  eyes  of  the  little  "  s :  '^  apprentice  "  had 
noted  itoftener  and  more  enviously  than  any  other 
article  of  furniture  in  the  house.  On  the  night  of 
her  arrival,  after  her  journey  of  fourteen  miles 
from  Boston,  over  a  rough  bridle-road,  on  a  jolt- 
ing horse,  clinging  tremblingly  to  her  new  "  Mas- 
ter," she  peered  through  her  little  red  fingers  at 
the  desk  swallowing  up  those  precious  papers 
which  Samuel  Wales  drew  from  his  pocket  with  an 
important  air.  She  was  hardly  five  years  old,  but 
she  was  an  acute  child ;  and  she  watched  her  mas- 
ter draw  forth  the  papers,  show  them  to  his  wife, 
Polly,  and  lock  them  up  in  the  desk,  with  the  full 
understanding  that  they  had  something  to  do  with 
her  coming  to  this  strange  place ;  and,  already,  a 
shadowy  purpose  began  to  form  itself  in  her  mind. 


lO  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL   TIMES. 

She  sat  on  a  cunning  little  wooden  stool,  close 
to  the  fireplace,  and  kept  her  small  chapped  hands 
persistently  over  her  face ;  she  was  scared,  and 
grieved,  and,  withal,  a  trifle  sulky.  Mrs.  Polly 
Wales  cooked  some  Indian  meal  mush  for  supper 
in  an  iron  pot  swinging  from  its  trammel  over  the 
blazing  logs,  and  cast  scrutinizing  glances  at  the 
little  stranger.  She  had  welcomed  her  kindly, 
taken  off  her  outer  garments,  and  established  her 
on  the  little  stool  in  the  warmest  corner,  but  the 
child  had  given  a  very  ungracious  response.  She 
would  not  answer  a  word  to  Mrs.  Wales'  coaxing 
questions,  but  twitched  herself  away  with  all  her 
small  might,  and  kept  her  hands  tightly  over  her 
eyes,  only  peering  between  her  fingers  when  she 
thought  no  one  was  noticing. 

She  had  behaved  after  the  same  fashion  all  the 
way  from  Boston,  as  Mr.  Wales  told  his  wife  in  a 
whisper.  The  two  were  a  little  dismayed,  at  the 
whole  appearance  of  the  small  apprentice  ;  to  tell 
the  truth,  she  was  not  in  the  least  what  they  had 
expected.  They  had  been  revolving  this  scheme 
of  taking  "  a  bound  jrirl"  for  some  time   in  their 


THE   BOUND   GIRL.  II 

minds  ;  and,  Samuel  Wales'  gossip  in  Boston,  Sam 
Vaughan,  had  been  requested  to  keep  a  lookout 
for  a  suitable  person. 

So,  when  word  came  that  one  had  been  found, 
Mr.  Wales  had  started  at  once  for  the  city.  When 
he  saw  the  child,  he  was  dismayed.  He  had  ex- 
pected to  see  a  girl  of  ten  ;  this  one  was  hardly 
five,  and  she  had  anything  but  the  demure  and 
decorous  air  which  his  Puritan  mind  esteemed 
becoming  and  appropriate  in  a  little  maiden.  Her 
hair  was  black  and  curled  tightly,  instead  of  being 
brown  and  straight  parted  in  the  middle,  and 
combed  smoothly  over  her  ears  as  his  taste 
regulated ;  her  eyes  were  black  and  flashing, 
instead  of  being  blue,  and  downcast.  The 
minute  he  saw  the  child,  he  felt  a  disapproval  of 
her  rise  in  his  heart,  and  also  something  akin  to 
terror.  He  dreaded  to  take  this  odd-looking  child 
home  to  his  wife  Polly  ;  he  foresaw  contention  and 
mischief  in  their  quiet  household.  But  he  felt  as 
if  his  word  was  rather  pledged  to  his  gossip,  and 
there  was  the  mother,  waiting  and  expectant.  She 
was  a  red-cheeked  English  girl,  who  had  been  in 


12  STORIES   OF   COLONIAL   TIMES. 

Sam  Vaughan's  employ ;  she  had  recently  married 
one  Burjust,  and  he  was  unwilling  to  support  the 
first  husband's  child,  so  this  chance  to  bind  her 
out  and  secure  a  good  home  for  her  had  been 
eagerly  caught  at. 

The  small  Ann  seemed  rather  at  Samuel  Wales' 
mercy,  and  he  had  not  the  courage  to  disappoint 
his  friend  or  her  mother ;  so  the  necessary  papers 
were  made  out,  Sam  Vaughan's  and  wife's  signa- 
tures affixed,  and  Margaret  Burjust's  mark,  and 
he  set  out  on  his  homeward  journey  with  the  child. 

The  mother  was  coarse  and  illiterate,  but  she 
had  some  natural  affection ;  she  "  took  on  "  sadly 
when  the  little  girl  was  about  to  leave  her,  and 
Ann  clung  to  her  frantically.  It  was  a  pitiful 
scene,  and  Samuel  Wales,  who  was  a  very  tender- 
hearted man,  was  glad  when  it  was  over,  and  he 
jogging  along  the  bridle-path. 

But  he  had  had  other  troubles  to  encounter. 
All  at  once,  as  he  rode  through  Boston  streets, 
with  his  little  charge  behind  him,  after  leaving  his 
friend's  house,  he  felt  a  vicious  little  twitch  at  his 
hair,  which  he  wore  in  a  queue  tied  with  a  black 


THE    BOUND    GIRL.  I3 

ribbon  after  the  fashion  of  the  period.  Twitch, 
twitch,  twitch!  The  water  came  into  Samuel 
Wales'  eyes,  and  the  blood  to  his  cheeks,  while  the 
passers-by  began  to  hoot  and  laugh.  His  horse 
became  alarmed  at  the  hubbub,  and  started  up. 
For  a  few  minutes  the  poor  man  could  do  nothing 
to  free  himself.  It  was  wonderful  what  strength 
the  little  creature  had;  she  clinched  her  tiny 
fingers  in  the  braid,  and  pulled,  and  pulled.  Then, 
all  at  once,  her  grasp  slackened,  and  off  flew  her 
master's  steeple-crowned  hat  into  the  dust,  and 
the  neat  black  ribbon  on  the  end  of  the  queue  fol- 
lowed it.  Samuel  Wales  reined  up  his  horse  with 
a  jerk  then,  and  turned  round,  and  administered 
a  sounding  box  on  each  of  his  apprentice's  ears. 
Then  he  dismounted,  amid  shouts  of  laughter  from 
the  spectators,  and  got  a  man  to  hold  the  horse 
while  he  went  back  and  picked  up  his  hat  and 
ribbon. 

He  had  no  further  trouble.  The  boxes  seemed 
to  have  subdued  Ann  effectually.  But  he  pon- 
dered uneasily  all  the  way  home  on  the  small  vessel 
of  wrath  which  was  perched  up  behind  him,  and 


14  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

there  was  a  tingling  sensation  at  the  roots  of  his 
queue.  He  wondered  what  Polly  would  say.  The 
first  glance  at  her  face,  when  he  lifted  Ann  off  the 
horse  at  his  own  door,  confirmed  his  fears.  She 
expressed  her  mind,  in  a  womanly  way,  by  whis- 
pering in  his  ear  at  the  first  opportunity,  ^^  She's 
as  black  as  an  Injun. ''^ 

After  Ann  had  eaten  her  supper,  and  had  been 
tucked  away  between  some  tow  sheets  and  home- 
spun blankets  in  a  trundle-bed,  she  heard  the 
whole  story,  and  lifted  up  her  hands  with  horror. 
Then  the  good  couple  read  a  chapter,  and  prayed, 
solemnly  vowing  to  do  their  duty  by  this  child 
which  they  had  taken  under  their  roof,  and  implor- 
ing Divine  assistance. 

As  time  wore  on,  it  became  evident  that  they 
stood  in  sore  need  of  it.  They  had  never  had  any 
children  of  their  own,  and  Ann  Ginnins  was  the 
first  child  who  had  ever  lived  with  them.  But  she 
seemed  to  have  the  freaks  of  a  dozen  or  more  in 
herself,  and  they  bade  fair  to  have  the  experience 
of  bringing  up  a  whole  troop  with  this  one.  They 
tried  faithfully  to  do  their  duty  by  her,  but  they 


THE    BOUND    GIRL.  1 5 

were  not  used  to  children,  and  she  was  a  very 
hard  child  to  manage.  A  whole  legion  of  mis- 
chievous spirits  seemed  to  dwell  in  her  at  times, 
and  she  became  in  a  small  and  comparatively 
innocent  way,  the  scandal  of  the  staid  Puritan 
neighborhood  in  which  she  lived.  Yet,  withal,  she 
was  so  affectionate,  and  seemed  to  be  actuated  by 
so  little  real  malice  in  any  of  her  pranks,  that 
people  could  not  help  having  a  sort  of  liking  for 
the  child,  in  spite  of  them. 

She  was  quick  to  learn,  and  smart  to  work,  too, 
when  she  chose.  Sometimes  she  flew  about  with 
such  alacrity  that  it  seemed  as  if  her  little  limbs 
were  hung  on  wires,  and  no  little  girl  in  the  neigh- 
borhood could  do  her  daily  tasks  in  the  time  she 
could,  and  they  were  no  inconsiderable  tasks, 
either. 

Very  soon  after  her  arrival  she  was  set  to 
"winding  quills,"  so  many  every  day.  Seated  at 
Mrs.  Polly's  side,  in  her  little  homespun  gown, 
winding  quills  through  sunny  forenoons  —  how  she 
hated  it!  She  liked  feeding  the  hens  and  pigs 
better,  and  when  she  got  promoted  to  driving  the 


l6  STORIES   OF    COLONIAL   TIMES. 

COWS,  a  couple  of  years  later,  she  was  in  her  ele- 
ment. There  were  charming  possibilities  of  nuts 
and  checkerberries  and  sassafras  and  sweet  flag 
all  the  way  between  the  house  and  the  pasture, 
and  the  chance  to  loiter,  and  have  a  romp. 

She  rarely  showed  any  unwillingness  to  go  for 
the  cows;  but  once,  when  there  was  a  quilting 
at  her  mistress's  house,  she  demurred.  It  was 
right  in  the  midst  of  the  festivities ;  they  were 
just  preparing  for  supper,  in  fact.  Ann  knew 
all  about  the  good  things  in  the  pantry,  she 
was  wild  with  delight  at  the  unwonted  stir,  and 
anxious  not  to  lose  a  minute  of  it.  She  thought 
some  one  else  might  go  for  the  cows  that  night. 
She  cried  and  sulked,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it. 
Go  she  had  to.  So  she  tucked  up  her  gown  —  it  was 
her  best  Sunday  one  —  took  her  stick,  and  trudged 
along.  When  she  came  to  the  pasture,  there  were 
her  master's  cows  waiting  at  the  bars.  So  were 
Neighbor  Belcher's  cows  also,  in  the  adjoining 
pasture.  Ann  had  her  hand  on  the  topmost  of 
her  own  bars,  when  she  happened  to  glance  over 
at  Neighbor  Belcher's,  and  a  thought  struck  her. 


THE    ROUND   GIRL.  17 

She  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter,  and  took  a  step 
towards  the  other  bars.  Then  she  went  back  to 
her  own.  Finally,  she  let  down  the  Belcher  bars, 
and  the  Belcher  cows  crowded  out,  to  the  great 
astonishment  of  the  Wales  cows,  who  stared  over 
their  high  rails  and  mooed  uneasily. 

Ann  drove  the  Belcher  cows  home  and  ushered 
them  into  Samuel  Wales'  barnyard  with  speed. 
Then  she  went  demurely  into  the  house.  The 
table  looked  beautiful.  Ann  was  beginning  to 
quake  inwardly,  though  she  still  was  hugging  her- 
self, so  to  speak,  in  secret  enjoyment  of  her  own 
mischief.  She  had  one  hope  —  that  supper  would 
be  eaten  before  her  master  milked.  But  the  hope 
was  vain.  When  she  saw  Mr.  Wales  come  in, 
glance  her  way,  and  then  call  his  wife  out,  she 
knew  at  once  what  had  happened,  and  begun  to 
tremble — she  knew  perfectly  what  Mr.  Wales  was 
saying  out  there.  It  was  this  :  "  That  little  limb 
has  driven  home  all  Neighbor  Belcher's  cows  in- 
stead of  ours  ;  what's  going  to  be  done  with  her  ? " 

She  knew  what  the  answer  would  be,  too.  Mrs. 
Polly  was  a  peremptory  woman. 


l8  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

Back  Ann  had  to  go  with  the  Belcher  cows,  fas- 
ten them  safely  in  their  pasture  again,  and  drive 
her  master's  home.  She  was  hustled  off  to  bed, 
then,  without  any  of  that  beautiful  supper.  But 
she  had  just  crept  into  her  bed  in  the  small  unfin- 
ished room  up  stairs  where  she  slept,  and  was 
lying  there  sobbing,  when  she  heard  a  slow,  fum- 
bling step  on  the  stairs.  Then  the  door  opened, 
and  Mrs.  Deacon  Thomas  Wales,  Samuel  Wales' 
mother,  came  in.  She  was  a  good  old  lady,  and 
had  always  taken  a  great  fancy  to  her  son's  bound 
girl;  and  Ann,  on  her  part,  minded  her  better 
than  any  one  else.  She  hid  her  face  in  the  tow 
sheet,  when  she  saw  grandma.  The  old  lady  had 
on  a  long  black  silk  apron.  She  held  something 
concealed  under  it,  when  she  came  in.  Presently 
she  displayed  it. 

"There  —  child,"  said  she,  "here's  a  piece  of 
sweet  cake  and  a  couple  of  simballs,  that  I  man- 
aged to  save  out  for  you.  Jest  set  right  up  and 
eat  'em,  and  don't  ever  be  so  dretful  naughty 
again,  or  I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  you." 

This  reproof,  tempered  with   sweetness,  had  a 


THE    BOUND    GIRL.  19 

salutary  effect  on  Ann.  She  sat  up,  and  ate  her 
sweet  cake  and  simballs,  and  sobbed  out  her  con- 
trition to  grandma,  and  there  was  a  marked  im- 
provement in  her  conduct  for  some  days. 

Mrs.  Polly  was  a  born  driver.  She  worked  hard 
herself,  and  she  expected  everybody  about  her  to. 
The  tasks  which  Ann  had  set  her  did  not  seem  as 
much  out  of  proportion,  then,  as  they  would  now. 
Still,  her  mistress,  even  then,  allowed  her  less 
time  for  play  than  was  usual,  though  it  was  all 
done  in  good  faith,  and  not  from  any  intentional 
severity.  As  time  went  on,  she  grew  really  quite 
fond  of  the  child,  and  she  was  honestly  desirous 
of  doing  her  whole  duty  by  her.  If  she  had  had  a 
daughter  of  her  own,  it  is  doubtful  if  her  treat- 
ment   of   her  would   have   been   much    different. 

Still,  Ann  was  too  young  to  understand  all  this, 
and,  sometimes,  though  she  was  strong  and 
healthy,  and  not  naturally  averse  to  work,  she 
would  rebel,  when  her  mistress  set  her  stints  so 
long,  and  kept  her  at  work  ^hen  other  children 
were  playing. 

Once  in  a  while  she  would  confide  in  grandma, 


20  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

when  Mrs.  Polly  sent  her  over  there  on  an  errand 
and  she  had  felt  unusually  aggrieved  because  she 
had  had  to  wind  quills,  or  hetchel,  instead  of 
going  berrying,  or  some  like  pleasant  amusement, 

"  Poor  little  cosset,"  grandma  would  say,  pity- 
ingly. Then  she  would  give  her  a  simball,  and  tell 
her  she  must  "  be  a  good  girl,  and  not  mind  if  she 
couldn't  play  jest  like  the  others,  for  she'd  got  to 
airn  her  own  livin',  when  she  grew  up,  and  she 
must  learn  to  work." 

Ann  would  go  away  comforted,  but  grandma 
would  be  privately  indignant.  She  was,  as  is  apt 
to  be  the  case,  rather  critical  with  her  sons'  wives, 
and  she  thought  "  Sam'l's  kept  that  poor  little  gal 
too  stiddy  at  work,"  and  wished  and  wished  she 
could  shelter  her  under  her  own  grandmotherly 
wing,  and  feed  her  with  simballs  to  her  heart's 
content.  She  was  too  wise  to  say  anything  to 
influence  the  child  against  her  mistress,  however. 
She  was  always  cautious  about  that,  even  while 
pitying  her.  Once  in  awhile  she  would  speak  her 
mind  to  her  son,  but  he  was  easy  enough  —  Ann 
would  not  have  found  him  a  hard  task-master. 


THE    BOUND    GIRL.  21 

Still,  Ann  did  not  have  to  work  hard  enough  to 
hurt  her.  The  worst  consequences  were  that  such 
a  rigid  rein  on  such  a  frisky  little  colt  perhaps  had 
more  to  do  with  her  "  cutting  up,"  as  her  mistress 
phrased  it,  than  she  dreamed  of.  Moreover  the 
thought  of  the  indentures,  securely  locked  up  in 
Mr.  Wales'  tall  wooden  desk,  was  forever  in  Ann's 
mind.  Half  by  dint  of  questioning  various 
people,  half  by  her  own  natural  logic  she  had  set- 
tled it  within  herself,  that  at  any  time  the  posses- 
sion of  these  papers  would  set  her  free,  and  she 
could  go  back  to  her  own  mother,  whom  she  dimly 
remembered  as  being  loud-voiced,  but  merry,  and 
very  indulgent.  However,  Ann  never  meditated 
in  earnest,  taking  the  indentures  ;  indeed,  the  desk 
was  always  locked  —  it  held  other  documents  more 
valuable  than  hers  —  and  Samuel  Wales  carried 
the  key  in  his  waistcoat-pocket. 

She  went  to  a  dame's  school,  three  months  every 
year.  Samuel  Wales  carted  half  a  cord  of  wood 
to  pay  for  her  schooling,  and  she  learned  to  write 
and  read  in  the  New  England  Primer.  Next  to 
her,  on  the  split  log  bench,  sat  a  little  girl  named 


22  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

Hannah  French.  The  two  became  fast  friends. 
Hannah  was  an  only  child,  pretty  and  delicate, 
and  very  much  petted  by  her  parents.  No  long 
hard  tasks  were  set  those  soft  little  fingers,  even 
in  those  old  days  when  children  worked  as  well  as 
their  elders.  Ann  admired  and  loved  Hannah, 
because  she  had  what  she,  herself,  had  not;  and 
Hannah  loved  and  pitied  Ann  because  she  had 
not  what  she  had.  It  was  a  sweet  little  friendship, 
and  would  not  have  been,  if  Ann  had  not  been 
free  from  envy  and  Hannah  humble  and  pitying. 

When  Ann  told  her  what  a  long  stint  she  had 
to  do  before  school,  Hannah  would  shed  sympa- 
thizing tears. 

Ann,  after  a  solemn  promise  of  secrecy,  told  her 
about  the  indentures  one  day.  Hannah  listened 
with  round,  serious  eyes;  her  brown  hair  was 
combed  smoothly  down  over  her  ears.  She  was  a 
veritable  little  Puritan  damsel  herself. 

"  If  I  could  only  get  the  papers,  I  wouldn't  have 
to  mind  her,  and  work  so  hard,"  said  Ann. 

Hannah's  eyes  grew  rounder.  "Why,  it  would 
be  sinful  to  take  them  !  "  said  she. 


THE    BOUND    GIRL.  23 

Ann's  cheeks  blazed  under  her  wondering  gaze, 
and  she  said  no  more. 

When  she  was  about  eleven  years  old,  one  icy 
January  day,  Hannah  wanted  her  to  go  out  and 
play  on  the  ice  after  school.  They  had  no  skates, 
but  it  was  rare  fun  to  slide.  Ann  went  home  and 
asked  Mrs.  Polly's  permission  with  a  beating 
heart;  she  promised  to  do  a  double  stint  next 
day,  if  she  would  let  her  go.  But  her  mistress  was 
inexorable — work  before  play,  she  said,  always; 
and  Ann  must  not  forget  that  she  was  to  be 
brought  up  to  work ;  it  was  different  with  her  from 
what  it  was  with  Hannah  French.  Even  this  she 
meant  kindly  enough,  but  Ann  saw  Hannah  go 
away,  and  sat  down  to  her  spinning  with  more 
fierce  defiance  in  her  heart  than  had  ever  been 
there  before.  She  had  been  unusually  good,  too, 
lately.  She  always  was,  during  the  three  months' 
schooling,  with  sober,  gentle  little  Hannah  French. 

She  had  been  spinning  sulkily  a  while,  and  it 
was  almost  dark,  when  a  messenger  came  for  her 
master  and  mistress  to  go  to  Deacon  Thomas 
Wales',  who  had  been  suddenly  taken  very  ill. 


24  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

Ann  would  have  felt  sorry  if  she  had  not  been 
so  angry.  Deacon  Wales  was  almost  as  much  of 
a  favorite  of  hers  as  his  wife.  As  it  was,  the 
principal  thing  she  thought  of,  after  Mr.  Wales 
and  his  wife  had  gone,  was  that  the  key  was  in  the 
desk.  However  it  had  happened,  there  it  was. 
She  hesitated  a  moment.  She  was  all  alone  in 
the  kitchen,  and  her  heart  was  in  a  tumult  of 
anger,  but  she  had  learned  her  lessons  from  the 
Bible  and  the  New  England  Primer  and  she  was 
afraid  of  the  sin.  But,  at  last,  she  opened  the 
desk,  found  the  indentures,  and  hid  them  in  the 
little  pocket  which  she  wore  tied  about  her  waist, 
under  her  petticoat. 

Then  she  threw  her  blanket  over  her  head,  and 
got  her  poppet  out  of  the  chest.  The  poppet  was 
a  little  doll  manufactured  from  a  corn-cob, 
dressed  in  an  indigo-colored  gown.  Grandma  had 
made  it  for  her,  and  it  was  her  chief  treasure. 
She  clasped  it  tight  to  her  bosom  and  ran  across 
lots  to  Hannah  French's. 

Hannah  saw  her  coming,  and  met  her  at  the  door. 

"  I've  brought  you  my  poppet,"  whispered  Ann, 


THE    BOUND    GIRL. 


25 


all  breathless,  "  and  you  must  keep  her  always, 
and  not  let  her  work  too  hard.     I'm  going  away  !  " 
Hannah's  eyes   looked  like  two  solemn  moons. 
"  Where  are  you  going,  Ann  ? " 

"  I'm  going  to  Boston  to  find  my  own  mother." 
She  said  nothing  about  the  indentures  to  Hannah 
—  somehow  she  could  not. 

Hannah  could  not  say  much,  she  was  so  aston- 
ished, but  as  soon  as  Ann  had  gone,  scudding 
across  the  fields,  she  went  in  with  the  poppet  and 
told  her  mother. 

Deacon  Thomas  Wales  was  very  sick.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Samuel  remained  at  his  house  all  night, 
but  Ann  was  not  left  alone,  for  Mr.  Wales  had 
an  apprentice  who  slept  in  the  house. 

Ann  did  not  sleep  any  that  night.  She  got  up 
very  early,  before  any  one  was  stirring,  and  dressed 
herself  in  her  Sunday  clothes.  Then  she  tied  up 
her  working  clothes  in  a  bundle,  crept  softly  down 
stairs,  and  out  doors. 

It  was  bright  moonlight  and  quite  cold.  She 
ran  along  as  fast  as  she  could  on  the  Boston  road. 
Deacon  Thomas  Wales'  house  was  on   the  way. 


26  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

The  windows  were  lit  up.  She  thought  of 
grandma  and  poor  grandpa,  with  a  sob  in  her 
heart,  but  she  sped  along.  Past  the  school- 
house,  and  meeting-house,  too,  she  had  to  go,  with 
big  qualms  of  grief  and  remorse.  But  she  kept 
on.     She  was  a  fast  traveller. 

She  had  reached  the  North  Precinct  of  Brain- 
tree  by  daylight.  So  far,  she  had  not  encountered 
a  single  person.  Now,  she  heard  horse's  hoofs 
behind  her.  She  began  to  run  faster,  but  it  was 
of  no  use.  Soon  Captain  Abraham  French 
loomed  up  on  his  big  gray  horse,  a  few  paces  from 
her.  He  was  Hannah's  father,  but  he  was  a 
tithing-man,  and  looked  quite  stern,  and  Ann  had 
always  stood  in  great  fear  of  him. 

She  ran  on  as  fast  as  her  little  heels  could  fly, 
with  a  thumping  heart.  But  it  was  not  long  before 
she  felt  herself  seized  by  a  strong  arm  and  swung 
up  behind  Captain  French  on  the  gray  horse. 
She  was  in  a  panic  of  terror,  and  would  have 
cried  and  begged  for  mercy  if  she  had  not  been 
in  so  much  awe  of  her  captor.  She  thought  with 
awful  apprehension  of  these  stolen  indentures  in 


THE    BOUND   GIRL.  27 

her  little  pocket.     What  if  he  should  find  that  out ! 

Captain  French  whipped  up  his  horse,  however, 
and  hastened  along  without  saying  a  word.  His 
silence,  if  anything,  caused  more  dread  in  Ann 
than  words  would  have.  But  his  mind  was  occu- 
pied. Deacon  Thomas  Wales  was  dead ;  he  was 
one  of  his  most  beloved  and  honored  friends,  and 
it  was  a  great  shock  to  him.  Hannah  had  told 
him  about  Ann's  premeditated  escape,  and  he 
had  set  out  on  her  track,  as  soon  as  he  had 
found  that  she  was  really  gone,  that  morning. 
But  the  news,  which  he  had  heard  on  his  way,  had 
driven  all  thoughts  of  reprimand  which  he  might 
have  entertained,  out  of  his  head.  He  only  cared 
to  get  the  child  safely  back. 

So,  not  a  word  spoke  Captain  French,  but  rode 
on  in  grim  and  sorrowful  silence,  with  Ann  cling- 
ing to  him,  till  he  reached  her  master's  door. 
Then  he  set  her  down  with  a  stern  and  solemn  in- 
junction never  to  transgress  again,  and  rode  away. 

Ann  went  into  the  kitchen  with  a  quaking  heart. 
It  was  empty  and  still.  Its  very  emptiness  and 
stillness  seemed   to  reproach   her.     There    stood 


28  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

the  desk  —  she  ran  across  to  it,  pulled  the  inden- 
tures from  her  pocket,  put  them  in  their  old  place, 
and  shut  the  lid  down.  There  they  staid  till  the 
full  and  just  time  of  her  servitude  had  expired. 
She  never  disturbed  them  again. 

On  account  of  the  grief  and  confusion  incident 
on  Deacon  Wales'  death,  she  escaped  with  very 
little  censure.  She  never  made  an  attempt  to  run 
away  again.  Indeed  she  had  no  wish  to,  for  after 
Deacon  Wales'  death,  grandma  was  lonely  and 
wanted  her,  and  she  lived,  most  of  the  time,  with 
her.  And,  whether  she  was  in  reality,  treated  any 
more  kindly  or  not,  she  was  certainly  happier. 


II. 

DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'    WILL. 

IN  the  Name  of  God  Amen  !  the  Thirteenth  Day 
of  September  One  Thousand  Seven  Hundred 
Fifty  &  eight,  I,  Thomas  Wales  of  Braintree,  in  the 
County  of  Suffolk  &:  Province  of  the  Massachusetts 
Bay  in  New  England,  Gent -being  in  good  health 
of  Body  and  of  Sound  Disproving  mind  and  Mem- 
ory, Thanks  be  given  to  God  —  Calling  to  mind 
my  mortality,  Do  therefore  in  my  health  make  and 
ordain  this  my  Last  Will  and  Testament.  And  First 
I  Recommend  my  Soul  into  the  hand  of  God  who 
gave  it  —  Hoping  through  grace  to  obtain  Salvation 
thro'  the  merits  and  Mediation  of  Jesus  Christ  my 
only  Lord  and  Dear  Redeemer,  and  my  body  to  be 
Decently  inter*^,  at  the  Discretion  of  my  Executer, 
believing  at  the  General  Resurection  to  receive 
the  Same  again  by  the  mighty  Power  of  God  —  And 
such  worldly  estate  as  God  in  his  goodness  hath 
graciously  given  me  after  Debts,  funeral  Expenses 
&c,  are  Paid  I  give  &  Dispose  of  the  Same  as 
FoUoweth  — 

I77ipri7nis — I  Give  to  my  beloved  Wife  Sarah  a 
good  Sute  of  mourning  apparrel  Such  as  she  may 
Choose  —  also  if  she  acquit  my  estate  of  Dower  and 
third-therin  (as  we  have  agreed)  Then  that  my  Ex- 
ecuter return  all  of  Household  movables  she  bought 
at  our  marriage  &  since  that  are  remaining,  also  to 
29 


30  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

Pay  to  her  or  Her  Heirs  That  Note  of  Forty  Pound 
1  gave  to  her,  when  she  acquited  my  estate  and  I 
hers.  Before  Division  to  be  made  as  herein  exprest, 
also  the  Southwest  fire-Room  in  my  House,  a  right 
in  my  Cellar,  Halfe  the  Garden,  also  the  Privi- 
lege of  water  at  the  well  &  yard  room  and  to  bake 
in  the  oven  what  she  hath  need  of  to  improve  her 
Life-time  by  her. 

After  this,  followed  a  division  of  his  property 
amongst  his  children,  five  sons,  and  two  daughters. 
The  "  Homeplace"  was  given  to  his  sons  Ephraim 
and  Atherton.  Ephraim  had  a  good  house  of  his 
own,  so  he  took  his  share  of  the  property  in  land, 
and  Atherton  went  to  live  in  the  old  homestead. 
His  quarters  had  been  poor  enough ;  he  had  not 
been  so  successful  as  his  brothers,  and  had  been 
unable  to  live  as  well.  It  had  been  a  great  cross 
to  his  wife,  Dorcas,  who  was  very  high  spirited. 
She  had  compared,  bitterly,  the  poverty  of  her 
household  arrangements,  with  the  abundant  com- 
fort of  her  sisters-in-law. 

Now,  she  seized  eagerly  at  the  opportunity  of  im- 
proving her  style  of  living.  The  old  Wales  house 
was  quite  a  pretentious  edifice  for  those  times.  All 
the  drawback  to  her  delight  was,  that  Grandma 


should  have  the  southwest  fire-room.  She  wanted 
to  set  up  her  high-posted  bedstead,  with  its  ei]or- 
mous  feather-bed  in  that,  and  have  it  for  her  fore- 
room.  Properly,  it  was  the  fore  room,  being  right 
across  the  entry  from  the  family  sitting  room. 
There  was  a  tall  chest  of  drawers  that  would  fit  in 
so  nicely  between  the  windows,  too.  Take  it  alto- 
-gether,  she  was  chagrined  at  having  to  give  up  the 
southwest  room;  but  there  was  no  help  for  it  — 
there  it  was  in  Deacon  Wales'  will. 

Mrs.  Dorcas  was  the  youngest  of  all  the  sons' 
wives,  as  her  husband  was  the  latest  born.  She 
was  quite  a  girl  to  some  of  them.  Grandma  had 
never  more  than  half  approved  of  her.  Dorcas  was 
high-strung  and  flighty,  she  said.  She  had  her 
doubts  about  living  happily  with  her.  But  Atherton 
was  anxious  for  this  division  of  the  property,  and 
he  was  her  youngest  darling,  so  she  gave  in.  She 
felt  lonely,  and  out  of  her  element,  when  everything 
was  arranged,  she  established  in  the  southwest  fire- 
room,  and  Atherton's  family  keeping  house  in  the 
others,  though  things  started  pleasantly  and  peace- 
ably enough. 


32  STORIES   OF    COLONIAL   TIMES. 

It  occurred  to  her  that  her  son  Samuel  might 
have  her  own  "help,"  a  stout  woman,  who  had 
worked  in  her  kitchen  for  many  years,  and  she  take 
in  exchange  his  little  bound  girl,  Ann  Ginnins. 
She  had  always  taken  a  great  fancy  to  the  child. 
There  was  a  large  closet  out  of  the  southwest  room, 
where  she  could  sleep,  and  she  could  be  made 
very  useful,  taking  steps,  and  running  "  arrants  " 
for  her. 

Mr.  Samuel  and  his  wife  hesitated  a  little,  when 
this  plan  was  proposed.  In  spite  of  the  trouble 
she  gave  them,  they  were  attached  to  Ann,  and  did 
not  like  to  part  with  her,  and  Mrs.  Polly  was  just 
getting  her  "larnt"  her  own  wa3'S,  as  she  put  it. 
Privately,  she  feared  Grandma  would  undo  all  the 
good  she  had  done,  in  teaching  Ann  to  be  smart 
and  capable.  Finally  they  gave  in,  with  the  under- 
standing that  it  was  not  to  be  considered  necessa- 
rily a  permanent  arrangement,  and  Ann  went  to 
live  with  the  old  lady. 

Mrs.  Dorcas  did  not  relish  this  any  more  than 
she  did  the  appropriation  of  the  southwest  fire-room. 
She  had  never  liked  Ann  very  well.     Besides  she 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES     WILL.  33 

had  two  little  girls  of  her  own,  and  she  fancied  Ann 
rivaled  them  in  Grandma's  affection.  So,  soon  after 
the  girl  was  established  in  the  house,  she  began  to 
show  out  in  various  little  ways. 

Thirsey,  her  youngest  child,  was  a  mere  baby,  a 
round  fat  dumpling  of  a  thing.  She  was  sweet,  and 
good-natured,  and  the  pet  of  the  whole  family. 
Ann  was  very  fond  of  playing  with  her,  and  tend- 
ing her,  and  Mrs.  Dorcas  began  to  take  advantage 
of  it.  The  minute  Ann  was  at  liberty  she  was 
called  upon  to  take  care  of  Thirsey.  The  constant 
carrying  about  such  a  heavy  child  soon  began  to 
make  her  shoulders  stoop  and  ache.  Then  Grandma 
took  up  the  cudgels.  She  was  smart  and  high- 
spirited,  but  she  was  a  very  peaceable  old  lady  on 
her  own  account,  and  fully  resolved  "  to  put  up  with 
every  thing  from  Dorcas,  rather  than  have  strife  in 
the  family."  She  was  not  going  to  see  this  helpless 
little  girl  imposed  on,  however.  "  The  little  gal 
ain't  goin'  to  get  bent  all  over,  tendin'  that  heavy 
baby,  Dorcas,"  she  proclaimed.  "You  can  jist 
make  up  your  mind  to  it.  She  didn't  come  here 
to  do  sech  work." 


34  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

So  Dorcas  had  to  make  up  her  mind  to  it. 

Ann's  principal  duties  were  scouring  "the 
brasses  "  in  Grandma's  room,  taking  steps  for  her, 
and  spinning  her  stint  every  day.  Grandma  set 
smaller  stints  than  Mrs.  Polly.  As  time  went  on, 
she  helped  about  the  cooking.  She  and  Grandma 
cooked  their  own  victuals,  and  ate  from  a  little 
separate  table  in  the  common  kitchen.  It  was  a 
very  large  room,  and  might  have  accommodated 
several  families,  if  they  could  have  agreed.  There 
was  a  big  oven,  and  a  roomy  fire-place.  Good 
Deacon  Wales  had  probably  seen  no  reason  at  all 
why  his  "beloved  wife,"  should  not  have  her  right 
therein  with  the  greatest  peace  and  concord. 

But  it  soon  came  to  pass  that  Mrs.  Dorcas'  pots 
and  kettles  were  all  prepared  to  hang  on  the  tram- 
mels when  Grandma's  were,  and  an  army  of  cakes 
and  pies  marshalled  to  go  in  the  oven  when  Grandma 
had  proposed  to  do  some  baking.  Grandma  bore 
it  patiently  for  a  long  time ;  but  Ann  was  with 
difficulty  restrained  from  freeing  her  small  mind, 
and  her  black  eyes  snapped  more  dangerously,  at 
every  new  offence. 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES     WILL.  35 

One  morning,  Grandma  had  two  loaves  of  "  riz 
bread,"  and  some  election  cakes,  rising,  and  was 
intending  to  bake  them  in  about  an  hour,  when  they 
should  be  sufficiently  light.  What  should  Mrs. 
Dorcas  do,  but  mix  up  sour  milk  bread,  and  some 
pies  with  the  greatest  speed,  and  fill  up  the  oven, 
before  Grandma's  cookery  was  ready ! 

Grandma  sent  Ann  out  into  the  kitchen  to  put 
the  loaves  in  the  oven  and  lo  and  behold !  the 
oven  was  full.  Ann  stood  staring  for  a  minute, 
with  a  loaf  of  election  cake  in  her  hands  ;  that  and 
the  bread  would  be  ruined  if  they  were  not  baked 
immediately,  as  they  were  raised  enough.  Mrs. 
Dorcas  had  taken  Thirsey  and  stepped  out  some- 
where, and  there  was  no  one  in  the  kitchen.  Ann 
set  the  election  cake  back  on  the  table.  Then, 
with  the  aid  of  the  tongs,  she  reached  into  the  brick 
oven  and  took  out  every  one  of  Mrs.  Dorcas'  pies 
and  loaves.  Then  she  arranged  them  deliberately 
in  a  pitiful  semicircle  on  the  hearth,  and  put 
Grandma's  cookery  in  the  oven. 

She  went  back  to  the  southwest  room  then,  and 
sat  quietly  down  to  her  spinning.     Grandma  asked 


36  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

if  she  had  put  the  things  in,  and  she  said  "Yes, 
ma'am,"  meekly.  There  was  a  bright  red  spot  on 
each  of  her  dark  cheeks. 

When  Mrs.  Dorcas  entered  the  kitchen,  carrying 
Thirsey  wrapped  up  in  an  old  homespun  blanket, 
she  nearly  dropped  as  her  gaze  fell  on  the  fire- 
place and  the  hearth.  There  sat  her  bread  and 
pies,  in  the  most  lamentable  half-baked,  sticky, 
doughy  condition  imaginable.  She  opened  the 
oven,  and  peered  in.  There  were  Grandma's  loaves, 
all  a  lovely  brown.  Out  they  came,  with  a  twitch. 
Luckily,  they  were  done.  Her  own  went  in,  but 
they  were  irretrievable  failures. 

Of  course,  quite  a  commotion  came  from  this. 
Dorcas  raised  her  shrill  voice  pretty  high,  and 
Grandma,  though  she  had  been  innocent  of  the 
whole  transaction,  was  so  blamed  that  she  gave 
Dorcas  a  piece  of  her  mind  at  last.  Ann  surveyed 
the  nice  brown  loaves,  and  listened  to  the  talk  in 
secret  satisfaction ;  but  she  had  to  suffer  for  it  after- 
ward. Grandma  punished  her  for  the  first  time, 
and  she  discovered  that  that  kind  old  hand  was 
pretty  firm  and  strong.  "  No  matter  what  you  think 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'    WILL.  37 

or  whether  you  air  in  the  rights  on't,  or  not,  a  Httle 
gal  mustn't  ever  sass  her  elders,"  said  Grandma. 

But  if  Ann's  interference  was  blamable,  it  was 
productive  of  one  good  result  —  the  matter  came 
to  Mr.  Atherton's  ears,  and  he  had  a  stern  sense  of 
justice  when  roused,  and  a  great  veneration  for  his 
mother.  His  father's  will  should  be  carried  out 
to  the  letter,  he  declared  ;  and  it  was.  Grandma 
baked  and  boiled  in  peace,  outwardly,  at  least,  after 
that. 

Ann  was  a  great  comfort  to  her;  she  was  out- 
growing her  wild,  mischievous  ways,  and  she  was 
so  bright  and  quick.  Sne  promised  to  be  pretty,  too. 
Grandma  compared  her  favorably  with  her  own 
grandchildren,  especially,  Mrs.  Dorcas'  eldest 
daughter  Martha,  who  was  nearly  Ann's  age. 
"  Marthy's  a  pretty  little  gal  enough,"  she  used  to 
say,  "but  she  ain't  got  the  snap  to  her  that  Ann 
has,  though  I  wouldn't  tell  Atherton's  wife  so,  for 
the  world." 

She  promised  Ann  her  gold  beads,  when  she 
should  be  done  with  them,  under  strict  injunctions 
not  to  say  anything  about  it  till  the  time  came  ; 


35  STORIES   OF    COLONIAL   TIMES. 

for  the  others  might  feel  hard  as  she  wasn't  her 
own  flesh  and  blood.  The  gold  beads  were  Ann's 
ideals  of  beauty,  and  richness,  though  she  did  not 
like  to  hear  Grandma  talk  about  being  "  done  with 
them."  Grandma  always  wore  them  around  her 
fair,  plump  old  neck ;  she  had  never  seen  her  with- 
out her  string  of  beads. 

As  before  said,  Ann  was  now  very  seldom  mis- 
chievous enough  to  make  herself  serious  trouble  ; 
but,  once  in  a  while,  her  natural  propensities  would 
crop  out.  When  they  did,  Mrs.  Dorcas  was  exceed- 
ingly bitter.  Indeed,  her  dislike  of  Ann  was,  at 
all  times,  smouldering,  and  needed  only  a  slight 
fanning  to  break  out. 

One  stormy  winter  day,  Mrs.  Dorcas  had  been 
working  till  dark,  making  candle-wicks.  When 
she  came  to  get  tea,  she  tied  the  white  fleecy  rolls 
together,  a  great  bundle  of  them,  and  hung  them 
up  in  the  cellar-way,  over  the  stairs,  to  be  out  of  the 
way.  They  were  extra  fine  wicks,  being  made  of 
flax  for  the  company  candles.  "  I've  got  a  good 
job  done,"  said  Mrs.  Dorcas,  surveying  them  com- 
placently.    Her  husband  had  gone  to  Boston,  and 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'    WILL.  39 

was  not  coming  home  till  the  next  day,  so  she  had 
had  a  nice  chance  to  work  at  them,  without  as  much 
interruption  as  usual. 

Ann,  going  down  the  cellar-stairs,  with  a  lighted 
candle,  after  some  butter  for  tea,  spied  the  beauti- 
ful rolls  swinging  overhead.  What  possessed  her 
to,  she  could  not  herself  have  told — she  certainly 
had  no  wish  to  injure  Mrs.  Dorcas'  wicks  —  but  she 
pinched  up  a  little  end  of  the  fluffy  flax  and  touched 
her  candle  to  it.  She  thought  she  would  see  how 
that  little  bit  would  burn  off.  She  soon  found  out. 
The  flame  caught,  and  ran  like  lightning  through 
the  whole  bundle.  There  was  a  great  puff  of  fire 
and  smoke,  and  poor  Mrs.  Dorcas'  fine  candle- 
wicks  were  gone.  Ann  screamed,  and  sprang 
down  stairs.  She  barely  escaped  the  whole  blaze 
coming  in  her  face. 

"  What's  that !  "  shrieked  Mrs.  Dorcas,  rushing 
to  the  cellar-door.  Words  can  not  describe  her 
feeling  when  she  saw  that  her  nice  candle-wicks, 
the  fruit  of  her  day's  toil,  were  burnt  up. 

If  ever  there  was  a  wretched  culprit  that  night, 
Ann  was.     She  had  not  meant  to  do  wrong,  but 


40  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

that,  maybe,  made  it  worse  for  her  in  one  way.  She 
had  not  even  gratified  malice  to  sustain  her. 
Grandma  blamed  her,  almost  as  severely  as  Mrs. 
Dorcas.  She  said  she  didn't  know  what  would 
"become  of  a  little  gal,  that  was  so  keerless,"  and 
decreed  that  she  must  stay  at  home  from  school 
and  work  on  candle-wicks  till  Mrs.  Dorcas'  loss 
was  made  good  to  her.  Ann  listened  ruefully. 
She  was  scared  and  sorry,  but  that  did  not  seem  to 
help  matters  any.  She  did  not  want  any  supper, 
and  she  went  to  bed  early  and  cried  herself  to 
sleep. 

Somewhere  about  midnight,  a  strange  sound 
woke  her  up.  She  called  out  to  Grandma  in  alarm. 
The  same  sound  had  awakened  her.  "  Get  up,  an' 
light  a  candle,  child,"  said  she ;  "  I'm  afeard  the 
baby's  sick." 

Ann  scarcely  had  the  candle  lighted,  before  the 
door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Dorcas  appeared  in  her 
nightdress — she  was  very  pale,  and  trembling  all 
over.  "  Oh ! "  she  gasped, ''  it's  the  baby,  Thirsey's 
got  the  croup,  an'  Atherton's  away,  and  there  ain't 
anybody  to  go  for  the  doctor,     O  what  shall  I  do, 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES     WILL.  4I 

what  shall  I  do ! "    She  fairly  wrung  her  hands. 

"  Hev  you  tried  the  skunk's  oil,"  asked  Grandma 
eagerly,  preparing  to  get  up. 

"  Yes,  I  have,  I  have  !  It's  a  good  hour  since  she 
woke  up,  an'  I've  tried  everything.  It  hasn't  done 
any  good.  I  thought  I  wouldn't  call  you,  if  I  could 
help  it,  but  she's  worse  —  only  hear  her  !  An'  Ath- 
erton's  away  !  Oh !  what  shall  I  do,  what  shall  I 
do?" 

"  Don't  take  on  so,  Dorcas,"  said  Grandma, 
tremulously,  but  cheeringly.  "  I'll  come  right 
along,  an'  —  why,  child,  what  air  you  goin'  to  do  .'*  " 

Ann  had  finished  dressing  herself,  and  now  she 
was  pinning  a  heavy  homespun  blanket  over  her 
head,  as  if  she  were  preparing  to  go  out  doors. 

"  I'm  going  after  the  doctor  for  Thirsey,"  said 
Ann,  her  black  eyes  flashing  with  determination. 

"  O  will  you,  will  you  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Dorcas,  catch- 
ing at  this  new  help. 

"Hush,  Dorcas,"  said  Grandma,  sternly.  "It's 
an  awful  storm  out  —  jist  hear  the  wind  blow  !  It 
ain't  fit  fur  her  to  go.  Her  life's  jist  as  precious 
as  Thirsey's." 


42  STORIES   OF   COLONIAL   TIMES. 

Ann  said  nothing  more,  but  she  went  into  her 
own  Utile  room  with  the  same  determined  look  in 
her  eyes.  There  was  a  door  leading  from  this 
room  into  the  kitchen.  Ann  slipped  through  it 
hastily,  lit  a  lantern  which  was  hanging  beside 
the  kitchen  chimney,  and  was  outdoors  in  a  min- 
ute. 

The  storm  was  one  of  sharp,  driving  sleet,  which 
struck  her  face  like  so  many  needles.  The  first 
blast,  as  she  stepped  outside  the  door,  seemed  to 
almost  force  her  back,  but  her  heart  did  not  fail 
her.  The  snow  was  not  so  very  deep,  but  it  was 
hard  walking.  There  was  no  pretense  of  a  path. 
The  doctor  lived  half  a  mile  away,  and  there  was 
not  a  house  in  the  whole  distance,  save  the  Meet- 
ing House  and  schoolhouse.  It  was  very  dark. 
Lucky  it  was  that  she  had  taken  the  lantern ;  she 
could  not  have  found  her  way  without  it. 

On  kept  the  little  slender,  erect  figure,  with  the 
fierce  determination  in  its  heart,  through  the 
snow  and  sleet,  holding  the  blanket  close  over  its 
head,  and  swinging  the  feeble  lantern  bravely. 

When  she  reached  the  doctor's  house,  he  was 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES'    WILL.  43 

gone.  He  had  started  for  the  North  Precinct  early 
in  the  evening,  his  good  wife  said ;  he  was  called 
down  to  Captain  Isaac  Lovejoy's,  the  house  next 
the  North  Precinct  Meeting  House.  She'd  been 
sitting  up  waiting  for  him,  it  was  such  an  awful 
storm,  and  such  a  lonely  road.  She  was  worried,  but 
she  didn't  think  he'd  start  for  home  that  night ;  she 
guessed  he'd  stay  at  Captain  Lovejoy's  till  morning. 

The  doctor's  wife,  holding  her  door  open,  as  best 
she  could,  in  the  violent  wind,  had  hardly  given  this 
information  to  the  little  snow-bedraggled  object 
standing  out  there  in  the  inky  darkness,  through 
which  the  lantern  made  a  faint  circle  of  light, 
before  she  had  disappeared. 

"  She  went  like  a  speerit,"  said  the  good  woman, 
staring  out  into  the  blackness  in  amazement.  She 
never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  as  Ann's  going  to 
the  North  Precinct  after  the  doctor,  but  that  was 
what  the  daring  girl  had  determined  to  do.  She 
had  listened  to  the  doctor's  wife  in  dismay,  but 
with  never  one  doubt  as  to  her  own  course  of  pro- 
ceeding. 

Straight  along  the  road  to  the  North  Precinct 


44  STORIES   OF   COLONIAL   TIMES. 

she  kept.  It  would  have  been  an  awful  journey  that 
night  for  a  strong  man.  It  seemed  incredible  that 
a  little  girl  could  have  the  strength  or  courage  to 
accomplish  it.  There  were  four  miles  to  traverse 
in  a  black,  howling  storm,  over  a  pathless  road, 
through  forests,  with  hardly  a  house  by  the  way. 

When  she  reached  Captain  Isaac  Lovejoy's  house, 
next  to  the  Meeting  House  in  the  North  Precinct  of 
Braintree,  stumbling  blindly  into  the  warm,  lighted 
kitchen,  the  captain  and  the  doctor  could  hardly 
believe  their  senses.  She  told  the  doctor  about 
Thirsey;  then  she  almost  fainted  from  cold  and 
exhaustion. 

Good  wife  Lovejoy  laid  her  on  the  settee,  and 
brewed  her  some  hot  herb  tea.  She  almost  forgot 
her  own  sick  little  girl,  for  a  few  minutes,  in  trying 
to  restore  this  brave  child  who  had  come  from  the 
South  Precinct  in  this  dreadful  storm  to  save  little 
Thirsey  Wales'  life. 

When  Ann  came  to  herself  a  little,  her  first  ques- 
tion was,  if  the  doctor  were  ready  to  go. 

"  He's  gone,"  said  Mrs.  Lovejoy,  cheeringly. 

Ann  felt  disappointed.     She  had  thought  she 


DEACON    THOMAS    WALES     WILL.  47 

was  going  back  with  him.  But  that  would  have 
been  impossible.  She  could  not  have  stood  the 
journey  for  the  second  time  that  night,  even  on 
horseback  behind  the  doctor,  as  she  had  planned. 

She  drank  a  second  bowlful  of  herb  tea,  and  went 
to  bed  with  a  hot  stone  at  her  feet,  and  a  great 
many  blankets  and  coverlids  over  her. 

The  next  morning.  Captain  Lovejoy  carried  her 
home.  He  had  a  rough  wood  sled,  and  she  rode 
on  that,  on  an  old  quilt ;  it  was  easier  than  horse- 
back, and  she  was  pretty  lame  and  tired. 

Mrs.  Dorcas  saw  her  coming  and  opened  the 
door.  When  Ann  came  up  on  the  stoop,  she  just 
threw  her  arms  around  her  and  kissed  her. 

"  You  needn't  make  the  candle-wicks,"  said  she. 
"  It's  no  matter  about  them  at  all.  Thirsey's  better 
this  morning,  an'  I  guess  you  saved  her  life." 

Grandma  was  fairly  bursting  with  pride  and 
delight  in  her  little  gal's  brave  feat,  now  that  she 
saw  her  safe.  She  untied  the  gold  beads  on  her 
neck,  and  fastened  them  around  Ann's.  "  There," 
said  she,  "  you  may  wear  them  to  school  to-day,  if 
you'll  be  keerful." 


48  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

That  day,  with  the  gold  beads  by  way  of  celebra- 
tion, began  a  new  era  in  Ann's  life.  There  was 
no  more  secret  animosity  between  her  and  Mrs. 
Dorcas.  The  doctor  had  come  that  night  in  the 
very  nick  of  time.  Thirsey  was  almost  dying.  Her 
mother  was  fully  convinced  that  Ann  had  saved 
her  life,  and  she  never  forgot  it.  She  was  a  woman 
of  strong  feelings,  who  never  did  things  by  halves, 
and  she  not  only  treated  Ann  with  kindness,  but 
she  seemed  to  smother  her  grudge  against  Grand- 
ma for  robbing  her  of  the  southwest  fire-room. 


III. 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER. 

'^  I  ^HE  Inventory  of  the  Estate  of  Samuel  Wales 
-^       Late  of  Braintree,  Taken  by  the  Subscribers, 
March  the  14th,  1761. 

His  Purse  in  Cash ^ii_i^_oi 

His  apparrel lo-ii-oo 

His  watch 2-13-04 

The  Best  Bed  with  two  Coverlids,. three  sheets, 

two  underbeds,  two  Bolsters,  two  pillows, 

Bedstead  rope       .         .         .         .         •        jC  ^ 
One  mill  Blanket,  two  Phlanel  sheets,  12  toe 

Sheets /  3-  4-  8 

Eleven  Towels  &  table  Cloth 0-15-0 

a  pair  of  mittens  &  pr.  of  Gloves  .  .  .  .0-2-0 
a  neck  Handkerchief  &  neckband  .  .  .  .0-4-0 
an  ovel  Tabel — Two  other  Tabels         .         .         .      1-12-  o 

A  Chist  with  Draws 2-8-0 

Another  Low  Chist  with  Draws  &  three  other 

Chists    ........     i-io-  o 

Six  best  Chears  and  a  great  chear  ,  .  .  .1-6-0 
a  warming  pan  —  Two  Brass  Kittles  .  .  .1-5-0 
a  Small  Looking  Glass,  five  Pewter  Basons  .  .0-7-8 
fifteen  other  Chears.         ......    0-15-  o 

fire  arms.  Sword  &  bayonet 1-4-0 

Six  Porringers,  four  platters,  Two  Pewter  Pots  ;^  i-  o-  4 
auger  Chisel,  Gimlet,  a  Bible  &  other  Books.  .  0-15-  o 
A  chese  press,  great  spinning-wheel,  &  spindle  0-9-4 

a  smith's  anvil 3-12-  o 

the  Pillion 0-8-0 

a  Bleu  Jacket 0-0-3 

Aaron  Whitco.mb. 

Silas  White. 

49 


50  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

The  foregoing  is  only  a  small  portion  of  the 
original  inventory  of  Samuel  Wales'  estate.  He 
was  an  exceedingly  well-to-do  man  for  these  times. 
He  had  a  good  many  acres  of  rich  pasture  and 
woodland,  and  considerable  live  stock.  Then  his 
home  was  larger  and  more  comfortable  than  was 
usual  then;  and  his  stock  of  household  utensils 
plentiful. 

He  died  three  years  after  Ann  Ginnins  went  to 
live  with  Grandma,  when  she  was  about  thirteen 
years  old.  Grandma  spared  her  to  Mrs.  Polly  for 
a  few  weeks  after  the  funeral ;  there  was  a  great 
deal  to  be  done,  and  she  needed  some  extra  help. 
And,  after  all,  Ann  was  legally  bound  to  her,  and 
her  lawful  servant. 

So  the  day  after  good  Samuel  Wales  was  laid 
away  in  the  little  Braintree  burying-ground,  Ann 
returned  to  her  old  quarters  for  a  little  while.  She 
did  not  really  want  to  go ;  but  she  did  not  object 
to  the  plan  at  all.  She  was  sincerely  sorry  for 
poor  Mrs.  Polly,  and  wanted  to  help  her,  if  she 
could.  She  mourned,  herself,  for  Mr.  Samuel. 
He  had  always  been  very  kind  to  her. 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  51 

Mrs.  Polly  had  for  company,  besides  Ann,  Nabby 
Porter,  Grandma's  old  hired  woman  whom  she  had 
made  over  to  her,  and  a  young  man  who  had  been 
serving  as  apprentice  to  Mr.  Samuel.  His  name 
was  Phineas  Adams.  He  was  very  shy  and  silent, 
but  a  good  workman. 

Samuel  Wales  left  a  will  bequeathing  every  thing 
to  his  widow ;  that  was  solemnly  read  in  the  fore- 
room  one  afternoon ;  then  the  inventory  had  to  be 
taken.  That  on  account  of  the  amount  of  property 
was  quite  an  undertaking ;  but  it  was  carried  out 
with  the  greatest  formality  and  precision. 

For  several  days,  Mr.  Aaron  Whitcomb,  and  Mr. 
Silas  White,  were  stalking  majestically  about  the 
premises,  with  note-books  and  pens.  Aaron  Whit- 
comb was  a  grave  portly  old  man,  with  a  large  head 
of  white  hair.  Silas  White  was  little  and  wiry  and 
fussy.  He  monopolized  the  greater  part  of  the 
business,  although  he  was  not  half  as  well  fitted 
for  it  as  his  companion. 

They  pried  into  everything  with  religious  exacti- 
tude. Mrs.  Polly  watched  them  with  beseeming 
awe  and  deference,  but  it  was  a  great  trial  to  her, 


52  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

and  she  grew  very  nervous  over  it.  It  seemed 
dreadful  to  have  all  her  husband's  little  personal 
effects,  down  to  his  neck-band  and  mittens,  handled 
over,  and  their  worth  in  shillings  and  pence  calcu- 
lated. She  had  a  price  fixed  on  them  already  in 
higher  currency. 

Ann  found  her  crying  one  afternoon  sitting  on 
the  kitchen  settle,  with  her  apron  over  her  head. 
When  she  saw  the  little  girl's  pitying  look,  she 
poured  out  her  trouble  to  her. 

"They've  just  been  valuing  his  mittens  and 
gloves,"  said  she,  sobbing,  "  at  two-and-sixpence. 
I  shall  be  thankful,  when  they  are  through." 

"  Are  there  any  more  of  his  things  ?  "  asked  Ann, 
her  black  eyes  flashing,  with  the  tears  in  them. 

"  I  think  they've  seen  about  all.  There's  his  blue 
jacket  he  used  to  milk  in,  a-hanging  behind  the 
shed-door  —  I  guess  they  haven't  valued  that  yet." 

"I  think  it's  a  shame!"  quoth  Ann.  "I  don't 
believe  there's  any  need  of  so  much  law." 

"Hush,  child!  You  mustn't  set  yourself  up 
against  the  judgment  of  your  elders.  Such  things 
have  to  be  done." 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  53 

Ann  said  no  more,  but  the  indignant  sparkle 
did  not  fade  out  of  her  eyes  at  all.  She  watched 
her  opportunity,  and  took  down  Mr.  Wales'  old 
blue  jacket  from  its  peg  behind  the  shed-door,  ran 
with  it  up  stairs  and  hid  it  in  her  own  room  behind 
the  bed.  "  There,"  said  she,  "  Mrs.  Wales  sha'n't 
cry  over  that!  " 

That  night,  at  tea  time,  the  work  of  taking  the 
inventory  was  complete.  Mr.  Whitcomb  and  Mr. 
White  walked  away  with  their  long  lists,  satisfied 
that  they  had  done  their  duty  according  to  the  law. 
Every  article  of  Samuel  Wales'  property,  from  a 
warming  pan  to  a  chest  of  drawers,  was  set  down, 
with  the  sole  exception  of  that  old  blue  jacket 
which  Ann  had  hidden. 

She  felt  complacent  over  it  at  first;  then  she 
begun  to  be  uneasy. 

*'  Nabby,"said  she  confidentially  to  the  old  servant 
woman,  when  they  were  washing  the  pewter  plates 
together  after  supper,  "  what  would  they  do,  if  any- 
body shouldn't  let  them  set  down  all  the  things  — 
if  they  hid  some  of  'em  away,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  They'd  make  a  dretful  time  on't,"  said  Nabby, 


54  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

impressively.  She  was  a  large,  stern-looking  old 
woman.  "  They  air  dretful  perticklar  'bout  these 
things.     They  hev  to  be." 

Ann  was  scared  when  she  heard  that.  When  the 
dishes  were  done,  she  sat  down  on  the  settle  and 
thought  it  over,  and  made  up  her  mind  what  to  do. 

The  next  morning,  in  the  frosty  dawning,  before 
the  rest  of  the  family  were  up,  a  slim,  erect  little 
figure  could  have  been  seen  speeding  across  lots 
toward  Mr.  Silas  White's.  She  had  the  old  blue 
jacket  tucked  under  her  arm.  When  she  reached 
the  house,  she  spied  Mr.  White  just  coming  out  of 
the  back  door  with  a  milking  pail.  He  carried  a 
lantern,  too,  for  it  was  hardly  light. 

He  stopped,  and  stared,  when  Ann  ran  up  to  him. 

"  Mr.  White,"  said  she,  all  breathless,  *'  here's 
—  something — I  guess  yer  didn't  see  yesterday." 

Mr.  White  set  down  the  milk  pail,  took  the  blue 
jacket  which  she  handed  him,  and  scrutinized  it 
sharply,  by  the  light  of  the  lantern. 

"  I  guess  we  didn't  see  it,"  said  he,  finally. 

"  I  will  put  it  down  —  it's  worth  about  three 
pence,  I  judge.     Where  "  — 


THE   ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  55 

"  Silas,  Silas ! "  called  a  shrill  voice  from  the 
house.  Silas  White  dropped  the  jacket  and  trotted 
briskly  in,  his  lantern  bobbing  agitatedly.  He 
never  delayed  a  moment  when  his  wife  called ; 
important  and  tyrannical  as  the  little  man  was 
abroad,  he  had  his  own  tyrant  at  home. 

Ann  did  not  wait  for  him  to  return  ;  she  snatched 
up  the  blue  jacket  and  fled  home,  leaping  like  a 
little  deer  over  the  hoary  fields.  She  hung  up  the 
precious  old  jacket  behind  the  shed-door  again,  and 
no  one  ^ver  knew  the  whole  story  of  its  entrance 
in  the  inventory.  If  she  had  been  questioned,  she 
would  have  told  the  truth  boldly,  though.  But 
Samuel  Wales'  Inventory  had  for  its  last  item  that 
blue  jacket,  spelled  after  Silas  White's  own  indi- 
vidual method,  as  was  many  another  word  in  the 
long  list.  Silas  White  consulted  his  own  taste  with 
respect  to  capital  letters  too. 

After  a  few  weeks.  Grandma  said  she  must  have 
Ann  again ;  and  back  she  went.  Grandma  was 
very  feeble  lately,  and  everybody  humored  her. 
Mrs.  Polly  was  sorry  to  have  the  little  girl  leave  her. 
She  said  it  was  wonderful  how  much  she  had  im- 


56  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

proved.  But  she  would  not  have  admitted  that  the 
improvement  was  owing  to  the  different  influence 
she  had  been  under ;  she  said  Ann  had  outgrown 
her  mischievous  ways. 

Grandma  did  not  live  very  long  after  this  how- 
ever. Mrs.  Polly  had  her  bound  girl  at  her  own 
disposal  in  a  year's  time.  Poor  Ann  was  sorrow- 
ful enough  for  a  long  while  after  Grandma's  death. 
She  wore  the  beloved  gold  beads  round  her  neck, 
and  a  sad  ache  in  her  heart.  The  dear  old  woman 
had  taken  the  beads  off  her  neck  with  hftr  own 
hands  and  given  them  to  Ann  before  she  died,  that 
there  might  be  no  mistake  about  it. 

Mrs.  Polly  said  she  was  glad  Ann  had  them. 
"  You  might  jist  as  well  have  'em  as  Dorcas's  girl," 
said  she ;  "she  set  enough  sight  more  by  you." 

Ann  could  not  help  growing  cheerful  again,  after 
a  while.  Affairs  in  Mrs.  Polly's  house  were  much 
brighter  for  her,  in  some  ways,  than  they  had  ever 
been  before. 

Either  the  hot  iron  of  affliction  had  smoothed 
some  of  the  puckers  out  of  her  mistress'  disposition, 
or  she  was  growing,  naturally,  less  sharp  and  dicta- 


THE   ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  57 

torial.  Anyway,  she  was  becoming  as  gentle  and 
loving  with  Ann  as  it  was  in  her  nature  to  be,  and 
Ann,  following  her  irnpulsive  temper,  returned  all 
the  affection  with  vigor,  and  never  bestowed  a 
thought  on  past  unpleasantness. 

For  the  next  two  years,  Ann's  position  in  the 
family  grew  to  be  more  and  more  that  of  a  daughter. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  the  indentures  lying  serenely 
in  that  tall  wooden  desk,  she  would  almost  have 
forgotten,  herself,  that  she  was  a  bound  girl. 

One  spring  afternoon,  when  Ann  was  about  six- 
teen years  old,  her  mistress  called  her  solemnly 
into  the  fore-room.  "  Ann,"  said  she,  "  come  here, 
I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Nabby  stared  wonderingly;  and  Ann,  as  she 
obeyed,  felt  awed.  There  was  something  unusual 
in  her  mistress's  tone. 

Standing  there  in  the  fore-room,  in  the  august 
company  of  the  best  bed,  with  its  high  posts  and 
flowered-chintz  curtains,  the  best  chest  of  drawers, 
and  the  best  chairs,  Ann  listened  to  what  Mrs. 
Polly  had  to  tell  her.  It  was  a  plan  which  almost 
took  her  breath  away;  for  it  was  this :   Mrs.  Polly 


58  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

proposed  to  adopt  her,  and  change  her  name  to 
Wales.  She  would  be  no  longer  Ann  Ginnins, 
and  a  bound  girl ;  but  Ann  Wales,  and  a  daughter 
in  her  mother's  home. 

Ann  dropped  into  one  of  the  best  chairs,  and  sat 
there,  her  little  dark  face  very  pale.  "  Should  I 
have  the  — papers  1 "  she  gasped  at  length. 

"  Your  papers  ?  Yes,  child,  you  can  have  them." 

"  I  don't  want  them  !  "  cried  Ann,  "  never.  I 
want  them  to  stay  just  where  they  are,  till  my  time 
is  out.     If  I  am  adopted,  I  don't  want  the  papers !  " 

Mrs.  Polly  stared.  She  had  never  known  how 
Ann  had  taken  the  indentures  with  her  on  her  run- 
away trip  years  ago;  but  now  Ann  told  her  the 
whole  story.  In  her  gratitude  to  her  mistress,  and 
her  contrition,  she  had  to. 

It  was  so  long  ago  in  Ann's  childhood,  it  did  not 
seem  so  very  dreadful  to  Mrs.  Polly,  probably.  But 
Ann  insisted  on  the  indentures  remaining  in  the 
desk,  even  after  the  papers  of  adoption  were  made 
out,  and  she  had  become  "Ann  Wales."  It  seemed 
to  go  a  little  way  toward  satisfying  her  conscience. 
This  adoption  meant  a  good  deal   to  Ann;  for 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  59 

besides  a  legal  home,  and  a  mother,  it  secured  to 
her  a  right  in  a  comfortable  property  in  the  future. 
Mrs.  Polly  Wales  was  considered  very  well  off.  She 
was  a  smart  business-woman,  and  knew  how  to  take 
care  of  her  property  too.  She  still  hired  Phineas 
Adams  to  carry  on  the  blacksmith's  business,  and 
kept  her  farm-work  running  just  as  her  husband 
had.  Neither  she  nor  Ann  were  afraid  of  work,  and 
Ann  Wales  used  to  milk  the  cows,  and  escort  them 
to  and  from  pasture,  g^  faithfully  as  Ann  Ginnins. 

It  was  along  in  spring  time  when  Ann  was 
adopted,  and  Mrs.  Polly  fulfilled  her  part  of  the 
contract  in  the  indentures  by  getting  the  Sunday 
suit  therein  spoken  of. 

They  often  rode  on  horseback  to  meeting,  but 
they  usually  walked  on  the  fine  Sundays  in  spring. 
Ann  had  probably  never  been  so  happy  in  her 
life  as  she  was  walking  by  Mrs.  Polly's  side  to 
meeting  that  first  Sunday  after  her  adoption.  Most 
of  the  way  was  through  the  woods ;  the  tender  light 
green  boughs  met  over  their  heads ;  the  violets  and 
anemones  were  springing  beside  their  path.  There 
were  green  buds  and  white  blossoms  all  around ; 


6o  STORIES   OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

the  sky  showed  blue  between  the  waving  branches, 
and  the  birds  were  singing. 

Ann  in  her  pretty  petticoat  of  rose-colored  stuff, 
stepping  daintily  over  the  young  grass  and  the 
flowers,  looked  and  felt  like  a  part  of  it  all.  Her 
dark  cheeks  had  a  beautiful  red  glow  on  them ;  her 
black  eyes  shone.  She  was  as  straight  and  grace- 
ful and  stately  as  an  Indian. 

"  She's  as  handsome  as  a  picture,"  thought  Mrs. 
Polly  in  her  secret  heart.  A  good  many  people 
said  that  Ann  resembled  Mrs.  Polly  in  her  youth, 
and  that  may  have  added  force  to  her  admiration. 

Her  new  gown  was  very  fine  for  those  days ;  but 
fine  as  she  was,  and  adopted  daughter  though  she 
was,  Ann  did  not  omit  her  thrifty  ways  for  once. 
This  identical  morning  Mrs.  Polly  and  she  carried 
their  best  shoes  under  their  arms,  and  wore  their 
old  ones,  till  within  a  short  distance  from  the  meet- 
ing-house. Then  the  old  shoes  were  tucked  away 
under  a  stone  wall  for  safety,  and  the  best  ones  put 
on.  Stone  walls,  very  likely,  sheltered  a  good  many 
well-worn  little  shoes,  of  a  Puritan  Sabbath,  that 
their  prudent  owners  might  appear  in  the  House  of 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  6 1 

God  trimly  shod.  Ah !  these  beautiful,  new  peaked- 
toed,  high-heeled  shoes  of  Ann's  —  what  would  she 
have  said  to  walking  in  them  all  the  way  to  meet- 
ing! 

If  that  Sunday  was  an  eventful  one  to  Ann  Wales, 
so  was  the  week  following.  The  next  Tuesday, 
right  after  dinner,  she  w^as  up  in  a  little  unfinished 
chamber  over  the  kitchen,  where  they  did  such 
work  when  the  weather  permitted,  carding  wool. 
All  at  once,  she  heard  voices  down  below.  They 
had  a  strange  inflection,  which  gave  her  warning 
at  once.  She  dropped  her  work  and  listened : 
"  What  is  the  matter .? "  thought  she. 

Then  there  was  a  heavy  tramp  on  the  stairs,  and 
Captain  Abraham  French  stood  in  the  door,  his 
stern  weather-beaten  face  white  and  set.  Mrs. 
Polly  followed  him,  looking  very  pale  and  excited. 

"  When  did  you  see  anything  of  our  Hannah  ?  " 
asked  Captain  French,  controlling  as  best  he  could 
the  tremor  in  his  resolute  voice. 

Ann  rose,  gathering  up  her  big  blue  apron,  cards, 
wool  and  all.  "  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  not  since  last  Sab- 
bath, at  meeting !     What  is  it  ?  " 


62  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

"  She's  lost,"  answered  Captain  French.  "  She 
started  to  go  up  to  her  Aunt  Sarah's  Monday  fore- 
noon; and  Enos  has  just  been  down,  and  they 
haven't  seen  anything  of  her."  Poor  Captain  French 
gave  a  deep  groan. 

Then  they  all  went  down  into  the  kitchen  to- 
gether, talking  and  lamenting.  And  then,  Captain 
French  was  galloping  away  on  his  gray  horse 
to  call  assistance,  and  Ann  was  flying  away 
over  the  fields,  blue  apron,  cards,  wool  and  all. 

"O,  Ann!"  Mrs.  Polly  cried  after,  "where  are 
you  going  ? " 

"  I'm  going  —  to  find  —  Hmuiah  .^"  Ann  shouted 
back,  in  a  shrill,  desperate  voice,  and  kept  on. 

She  had  no  definite  notion  as  to  where  she  was 
going ;  she  had  only  one  thought  —  Hannah  French, 
her  darling,  tender  little  Hannah  French,  her  friend 
whom  she  loved  better  than  a  sister,  was  lost. 

A  good  three  miles  from  the  Wales  home  was  a 
large  tract  of  rough  land,  half  swamp,  known  as 
"  Bear  Swamp."  There  was  an  opinion,  more  or 
less  correct,  that  bears  might  be  found  there. 
Some  had  been  shot  in  that  vicinity.     Why  Ann 


THE    ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  63 

turned  her  footsteps  in  that  direction,  she  could 
not  have  told  herself.  Possibly  the  vague  impres- 
sion of  conversations  she  and  Hannah  had  had, 
lingering  in  her  mind,  had  something  to  do  with  it. 
Many  a  time  the  two  little  girls  had  remarked  to 
each  other  with  a  shudder,  "  How  awful  it  would 
be  to  get  lost  in  Bear  Swamp." 

Anyway,  Ann  went  straight  there,  through  pasture 
and  woodland,  over  ditches  and  stone  walls.  She 
knew  every  step  of  the  way  for  a  long  distance. 
When  she  gradually  got  into  the  unfamiliar  wilder- 
ness of  the  swamp,  a  thought  struck  her  —  suppose 
she  got  lost  too!  It  would  be  easy  enough  —  the 
unbroken  forest  stretched  for  miles  in  some  direc- 
tions. She  would  not  find  a  living  thing  but  Indians  ; 
and,  maybe,  wild  beasts,  the  whole  distance. 

If  she  should  get  lost  she  would  not  find  Hannah, 
and  the  people  would  have  to  hunt  for  her  too. 
But  Ann  had  quick  wits  for  an  emergency.  She 
had  actually  carried  those  cards,  with  a  big  wad  of 
wool  between  them  all  the  time,  in  her  gathered-up 
apron.  Now  she  began  picking  off  little  bits  of 
wool  and  marking  her  way  with  them,   sticking 


64  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

them  on  the  trees  and  bushes.  Every  few  feet  a 
fluffy  scrap  of  wool  showed  the  road  Ann  had  gone. 

But  poor  Ann  went  on,  farther  and  farther  — 
and  no  sign  of  Hannah.  She  kept  calling  her, 
from  time  to  time,  hallooing  at  the  top  of  her 
shrill  sweet  voice  :  "  Hannah !  Hannah  !  Hannah 
Fre-nch." 

But  never  a  response  got  the  dauntless  little 
girl,  slipping  almost  up  to  her  knees,  sometimes,  in 
black  swamp-mud;  and  sometimes  stumbling  pain- 
fully over  tree-stumps,  and  through  tangled  under- 
growth. 

"  I'll  go  till  my  wool  gives  out,"  said  Ann  Wales ; 
then  she  used  it  more  sparingly. 

But  it  was  almost  gone  before  she  thought  she 
heard  in  the  distance  a  faint  little  cry  in  response 
to  her  call :  "  Hannah  !  Hannah  Fre-nch  !  "  She 
called  again  and  listened.  Yes  ;  she  certainly  did 
hear  a  little  cry  off  toward  the  west.  Calling  from 
time  to  time,  she  went  as  nearly  as  she  could  in 
that  direction.  The  pitiful  answering  cry  grew 
louder  and  nearer ;  finally  Ann  could  distinguish 
Hannah's  voice. 


THE   ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  65 

Wild  with  joy,  she  came,  at  last,  upon  her  sitting 
on  a  fallen  hemlock-tree,  her  pretty  face  pale,  and 
her  sweet  blue  eyes  strained  with  terror. 

*'  O  Hannah  !  "  "  O  Ann  !  " 

"  How  did  you  ever  get  here,  Hannah  ? " 

"I  —  started  for  aunt  Sarah's  —  that  morning," 
explained  Hannah,  between  sobs.  "  And  —  I  got 
frightened,  in  the  woods,  about  a  mile  from  father's. 
I  saw  something  ahead,  I  thought  was  a  bear.  A 
great  black  thing!  Then  I  ran  —  and,  somehow, 
the  first  thing  I  knew,  I  was  lost.  I  walked  and 
walked,  and  it  seems  to  me  I  kept  coming  right 
back  to  the  same  place.  Finally  I  sat  down  here, 
and  staid ;  I  thought  it  was  all  the  way  for  me  to 
be  found." 

"  O  Hannah,  what  did  you  do  last  night  ? " 

"I  staid  somewhere,  under  some  pine  trees," 
replied  Hannah,  with  a  shudder,  "  and  I  kept  hear- 
ing things  —  O  Ann  ! " 

Ann  hugged  her  sympathizingly.  "I  guess  I 
wouldn't  have  slept  much  if  I  had  known,"  said 
she.  "  O  Hannah,  you  haven't  had  anything  to  eat  1 
ain't  you  starved  ? " 


66  STORIES   OF   COLONIAL   TIMES. 

Hannah  laughed  faintly.  "  I  ate  up  two  whole 
pumpkin  pies  I  was  carrying  to  aunt  Sarah,"  said 
she. 

"  O  how  lucky  it  was  you  had  them  ! " 

"  Yes ;  mother  called  me  back  to  get  them,  after 
I  started.  They  were  some  new  ones,  made  with 
cream,  and  she  thought  aunt  Sarah  would  like 
them." 

Pretty  soon  they  started.  It  was  hard  work; 
for  the  way  was  very  rough,  and  poor  Hannah 
weak.  But  Ann  had  a  good  deal  of  strength  in  her 
lithe  young  frame,  and  she  half  carried  Hannah 
over  the  worst  places.  Still  both  of  the  girls  were 
pretty  well  spent  when  they  came  to  the  last  of 
the  bits  of  wool  on  the  border  of  Bear  Swamp. 
However,  thev  kept  on  a  little  farther ;  then  they 
had  to  stop  and  rest.  "  I  know  where  I  am  now," 
said  Hannah,  with  a  sigh  of  delight :  "  but  I  don't 
think  I  can  walk  another  step.  She  was,  in  fact, 
almost  exhausted. 

Ann  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  She  hardly 
knew  what  to  do.  She  could  not  carry  Hannah 
herself  —  indeed,  her  own  strength  began  to  fail; 


THE   ADOPTED   DAUGHTER.  69 

and  she  did  not  want  to  leave  her  to  go  for  assist- 
ance. 

All  of  a  sudden,  she  jumped  up.  "  You  stay  just 
where  you  are  a  few  minutes,  Hannah,"  said  she. 
"  I'm  going  somewhere.  I'll  be  back  soon."  Ann 
was  laughing. 

Hannah  looked  up  at  her  pitifully:  "O  Ann, 
don't  go!" 

"  I'm  coming  right  back,  and  it  is  the  only  way. 
You  must  get  home.  Only  think  how  your  father 
and  mother  are  worrying  !  " 

Hannah  said  no  more  after  that  mention  of  her 
parents,  and  Ann  started. 

She  was  not  gone  long.  When  she  came  in  sight 
she  was  laughing,  and  Hannah,  weak  as  she  was, 
laughed,  too.  Ann  had  torn  her  blue  apron  into 
strips,  and  tied  it  together  for  a  rope,  and  by  it 
she  was  leading  a  red  cow. 

Hannah  knew  the  cow,  and  knew  at  once  what 
the  plan  was. 

*'  O  Ann,  you  mean  for  me  to  ride  Betty ! " 

"  Of  course  I  do.  I  just  happened  to  think  our 
cows  were  in  the  pasture,  down  below  here.     And 


70  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

we've  ridden  Betty,  lots  of  times,  when  we  were 
children,  and  she's  just  as  gentle  now.  Whoa, 
Betty,  good  cow." 

It  was  very  hard  work  to  get  Hannah  on  to  the 
broad  back  of  her  novel  steed,  but  it  was  finally 
accomplished.  Betty  had  been  a  perfect  pet  from  a 
calf,  and  was  exceedingly  gentle.  She  started  off 
soberly  across  the  fields,  with  Hannah  sitting  on 
her  back,  and  Ann  leading  her  by  her  blue  rope. 

It  was  a  funny  cavalcade  for  Captain  Abraham 
French  and  a  score  of  anxious  men  to  meet,  when 
they  were  nearly  in  sight  of  home  ;  but  they  were 
too  overjoyed  to  see  much  fun  in  it. 

Hannah  rode  the  rest  of  the  way  with  her  father 
on  his  gray  horse  ;  and  Ann  walked  joyfully  by  her 
side,  leading  the  cow. 

Captain  French  and  his  friends  had,  in  fact,  just 
started  to  search  Bear  Swamp,  well  armed  with 
lanterns,  for  night  was  coming  on. 

It  was  dark  when  they  got  home.  Mrs.  French 
was  not  much  more  delighted  to  see  her  beloved 
daughter  Hannah  safe  again,  than  Mrs.  Polly  was 
to  see  Ann. 


THE   ADOPTED    DAUGHTER.  71 

She  listened  admiringly  to  the  story  Ann  told. 

"Nobody  but  you  would  have  thought  of  the 
wool  or  of  the  cow,"  said  she. 

"  I  do  declare,"  cried  Ann,  at  the  mention  of  the 
wool,  "  I  have  lost  the  cards  ! " 

"  Never  mind  the  cards ! "  said  Mrs.  Polly. 


IV. 

THE    "  HORSE    HOUSE  "    DEED. 

TV^NOW  all  Men  By  These  Presents,  that  I 
j^^  Seth  Towner  of  Braintree,  in  the  County  of 
Suffolk  &  Province  of  the  Massachusetts  Bay  in 
New  England,  Gent.  In  Consideration  that  I  may 
promote  &  encourage  the  worship  of  God,  I  have 
given  liberty  to  Ephriam,  and  Atherton  Wales,  & 
Th'o:^  Penniman  of  Stoughton  who  attend  Pub- 
lick  worship  with  us  to  erect  a  Stable  or  Horse 
House,  on  my  Land  near  the  Meeting  House,  in 
the  South  Precinct  in  Braintree  afores :  ^,  to  serve 
their  Horses,  while  attending  the  service  of  God 
—  and  to  the  intent  that  the  s:^  Ephriam,  Ather- 
ton &  Thomas,  their  Heirs  or  assignes  shall  and 
may  hereafter  So  long  as  they  or  any  of  them  in- 
cline or  Desire  to  keep  up  &  maintain  a  Horse 
House  for  the  afores :  ^  use  and  Purpose  ;  have 
s  'A  Land  whereon  s  -A  House  Stands  without  molles- 
tation :  I  the  said  Seth  Towner  for  my  Selfe,  my 
Heirs,  exec,  and  admin.  :  Do  hereby  Covenant 
promise  bind  &  oblige  my  selfe  &  them  to  warrant 
&  Defend  the  afores  :  ^  Privilege  of  Land.  To  the 
s:^  Ephriam  Wales,  Atherton  Wales,  &  Tho:^ 
Penniman  their  Heirs  or  assignes  So  long  as  they 
or  any  of  them  keep  a  Horse  House  their,  for  the 
afores:^  use  :  they  keeping  s:^  House  in  Such  re- 
pair at  all  times,  as  that  I  the  sr^  Seth  Towner, 


THE    "  HORSE    HOUSE  "    DEED.  73 

my  Heirs  or  assignes,  may  not  receive  Damage  by 
any  Creature  Coming  through  s  :  d  House  into  my 
Land  adjoining.  In  Witness  Whereof,  I  the  s-A 
Seth  Towner  have  hereunto  set  my  Hand  &  Seal 
the  first  Day  of  November  One  Thous.  and  Seven 
Hundred  Sixty  &  four :  in  the  fifth  year  of  his 
Majesty's  Reign  George  the  third  King  etc. 

Signed  Sealed  and  Del  :^ 

presence  of  Seth  Towner, 

Daniel  Linfield,  Simeon  Thayer." 

Ann's  two  uncles  by  adoption,  and  Thomas 
Penniman  of  Stoughton,  were  well  pleased  to  get 
this  permission  to  erect  a  stable,  or  Horse-House, 
as  they  put  it  then,  to  shelter  their  horses  during 
divine  worship.  The  want  of  one  had  long  been  a 
sore  inconvenience  to  them.  The  few  stables  al- 
ready erected  around  the  meeting-house,  could  not 
accommodate  half  of  the  horses  congregated  there 
on  a  Puritan  Sabbath,  and  every  barn,  for  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  about,  was  put  into  requisition  on 
severe  days.  After  the  women  had  dismounted 
from  their  pillions  at  the  meeting-house  door,  the 
men-folks  patiently  rode  the  horses  to  some  place 
of  shelter,  and  then  trudged  back  through  the  snow- 
drifts, wrestling  with  the  icy  wind. 

So  this  new  "Horse- House  "  was  a  ^reat  benefit 


74  STORIES   OF   COLONIAL   TIMES. 

to  the  Waleses,  and  to  the  Pennimans,  who  lived 
three  miles  from  them  over  the  Stoughton  line. 
They  were  all  constant  meeting-folks.  Hard  indeed 
was  the  storm  which  could  keep  a  Wales  or  a  Pen- 
niman  away  from  meeting. 

Mrs.  Polly  Wales'  horses  were  accommodated  in 
this  new  stable  also.  In  the  winter  time,  there 
were  two  of  them ;  one  which  she  and  Ann  rode, 
Ann  using  the  pillion,  and  one  for  Nabby  Porter. 
Phineas  Adams  always  walked.  Often  the  sturdy 
young  blacksmith  was  at  the  meeting-house,  be- 
fore the  women,  and  waiting  to  take  their  horses. 

One  Sunday,  the  winter  after  the  Horse-House 
was  built,  Mrs.  Polly,  Ann,  Phineas,  and  Nabby 
went  to  meeting  as  usual.  It  was  a  very  cold,  bleak 
day;  the  wind  blew  in  through  the  slight  wooden 
walls  of  the  old  meeting-house,  and  the  snow  lay 
in  little  heaps  here  and  there.  There  was  no  stove 
in  the  building,  as  every  one  knows.  Some  of  the 
women  had  hot  bricks  and  little  foot-stoves,  and 
that  was  all.  Ann  did  not  care  for  either.  She 
sat  up  straight  in  the  comfortless,  high-backed  pew. 
Her  cheeks  were  as  red  as  her  crimson  cloak,  her 


THE    "horse    house"    DEED.  75 

black  eyes  shone  like  stars.  She  let  Mrs.  Polly 
and  Nabby  have  the  hot  stones,  but  her  own  agile 
little  feet  were  as  warm  as  toast.  Little  Hannah 
French,  over  across  the  meeting-house,  looked 
chilled  and  blue,  but  somehow  Ann  never  seemed 
to  be  affected  much  by  the  cold. 

The  Wales  pew  was  close  to  a  window  on  the 
south  side  ;  the  side  where  the  new  stable  was. 
Indeed  Ann  could  see  it,  if  she  looked  out.  She 
sat  next  the  window  because  the  other  women 
minded  the  draught  more. 

Right  across  the  aisle  from  Mrs.  Polly's  pew  was 
Thomas  Penniman's.  He  was  there  with  his  wife, 
and  six  stalwart  sons.  The  two  youngest,  Levi 
and  John,  were  crowded  out  of  the  pew  proper,  and 
sat  in  the  one  directly  back. 

John  sat  at  the  end.  He  was  a  tall,  handsome 
young  fellow,  two  or  three  years  older  than  Ann. 
He  was  well  spoken  of  amongst  his  acquaintances 
for  two  reasons.  First,  on  account  of  his  own 
brave,  steady  character  ;  and  second,  on  account  of 
his  owning  one  of  the  finest  horses  anywhere  about. 
A  good  horse  was,  if  anything,  a  more  important 


76  STORIES   OF   COLONIAL   TIMES. 

piece  of  property  then  than  now.  This  one  was  a 
beautiful  bay.     They  called  him  "  Red  Robin." 

To-day,  Red  Robin  was  carefully  blanketed  and 
fastened  in  the  new  stable.  John  thought  when 
he  tied  him  there  how  thankful  he  was  he  had  such 
a  good  shelter  this  bitter  day.  He  felt  grateful  to 
Lieutenant  Seth  Turner,  who  owned  all  the  land 
hereabouts  and  had  given  the  liberty  to  build  it. 

The  people  all  sat  quietly  listening  to  the  long 
sermon.  Two  hours  long  it  was.  When  the  min- 
ister perched  up  in  his  beetling  pulpit  with  the 
sounding-board  over  his  head,  was  about  half 
through  his  discourse,  Ann  Wales  happened  to 
glance  out  of  the  window  at  her  side.  She  rarely 
did  such  a  thing  in  meeting-time  ;  indeed  she  had 
been  better  instructed.  How  she  happened  to 
to-day,  she  could  not  have  told,  but  she  did. 

It  was  well  she  did.  Just  at  that  moment,  a 
man  in  a  gray  cloak  sprang  into  the  Horse-House, 
and  began  untying  John  Penniman's  Red  Robin. 

Ann  gave  one  glance  ;  then  she  never  hesitated. 
There  was  no  time  to  send  whispers  along  the  pew ; 
tp  tell  Phineas  Acjams  to  give  the  alarm, 


THE    "  HORSE    HOUSE  "    DEED.  77 

Out  of  the  pew  darted  Ann,  like  a  red  robin  her 
self,  her  red  cloak  flying  back,  crowding  nimbly 
past  the  others,  across  the  aisle  to  John  Penniman. 

"  Somebody's  stealing  Red  Robin,  John,"  said 
she  in  a  clear  whisper.  They  heard  it  for  several 
pews  around.  Up  sprang  the  pewful  of  staunch 
Penniman s,  father  and  sons,  and  made  for  the 
door  in  a  great  rush  after  John,  who  was  out  before 
the  whisper  had  much  more  than  left  Ann's  lips. 

The  alarm  spread  ;  other  men  went  too.  The 
minister  paused,  and  the  women  waited.  Finally 
the  men  returned,  all  but  a  few  who  were  detailed 
to  watch  the  horses  through  the  remainder  of  the 
services,  and  the  meeting  proceeded. 

Phineas  sent  the  whisper  along  the  pew,  that 
John  had  got  out  in  time  to  save  Red  Robin  ;  but 
the  robber  had  escaped.  Somehow,  he  had  taken 
alarm  before  John  got  there.  Red  Robin  was 
standing  in  the  stable  untied  ;  but  the  robber  had 
disappeared. 

After  meeting  the  people  all  came  and  ques- 
tioned Ann.  "  He  was  a  very  tall  man,  in  a  gray 
cloak,"  said  she.     "  He  turned  his  face,  or  I  saw 


yS  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL   TIMES. 

it,  just  for  one  second,  when  I  looked.  He  had 
black  eyes  and  a  dark  curling  beard," 

It  seemed  very  extraordinary.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  Red  Robin's  being  untied,  they  would 
almost  have  doubted  if  Ann  had  seen  rightly. 
The  thief  had  disappeared  so  suddenly  and  utterly, 
it  almost  seemed  impossible  that  he  could  have 
been  there  at  all. 

There  was  much  talk  over  it  after  meeting.  "  Are 
you  sure  you  saw  him,  Ann  ? "  Mrs.  Polly  asked. 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  >f/^;r,"  Ann  would  reply.  She  be- 
gan to  feel  rather  uncomfortable  over  it.  She 
feared  people  would  think  she  had  been  napping 
and  dreaming  although  Red  Robin  was  untied. 

That  night  the  family  were  all  in  bed  at  nine 
o'clock,  as  usual ;  but  Ann  up  in  her  snug  feather- 
bed in  her  little  western  chamber,  could  not  sleep. 
She  kept  thinking  about  the  horse- thief,  and  grew 
more  and  more  nervous.  Finally  she  thought  of 
some  fine  linen  cloth  she  and  Mrs.  Polly  had  left 
out  in  the  snowy  field  south  of  the  house  to  bleach, 
and  she  worried  about  that.  A  web  of  linen  cloth 
and  a  horse  were  very  dissimilar  booty ;  but  a  thief 


THE    "HORSE    HOUSE''    DEED.  81 

was  a  thief.  Suppose  anything  should  happen  to 
the  linen  they  had  worked  so  hard  over  ! 

At  last,  she  could  not  endure  it  any  longer.  Up 
she  got,  put  on  her  clothes  hurriedly,  crept  softly 
down  stairs  and  out  doors.  There  was  a  full 
moon  and  it  was  almost  as  light  as  day.  The 
snow  looked  like  a  vast  sheet  of  silver  stretching 
far  away  over  the  fields. 

Ann  was  hastening  along  the  path  between  two 
high  snowbanks  when  all  of  a  sudden  she  stopped, 
and  gave  a  choked  kind  of  a  scream.  No  one  with 
nerves  could  have  helped  it.  Right  in  the  path  be- 
fore her  stood  the  horse-thief,  gray  cloak  and  all. 

Ann  turned,  after  her  scream  and  first  wild  stare, 
and  ran.  But  the  man  caught  her  before  she  had 
taken  three  steps*  "  Don't  scream,"  he  said  in  a 
terrible,  anxious  whisper.  "  Don't  make  a  noise, 
for  God's  sake  !  They're  after  me  !  Can't  you 
hide  me  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Ann,  white  and  trembling  all  over 
but  on  her  mettle,  "  I  won't.  You  are  a  sinful 
man,  and  you  ought  to  be  punished.  I  w^on't  do  a 
thing  to  help  you  !  " 


82  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

The  man's  face  bending  over  her  was  ghastly  in 
the  moonlight.  He  went  on  pleading.  "  If  you 
will  hide  me  somewhere  about  your  place,  they  will 
not  find  me,"  said  he,  still  in  that  sharp  agonized 
whisper.  "  They  are  after  me  —  can't  you  hear 
them  ? " 

Ann  could,  listening,  hear  distant  voices  on  the 
night  air. 

"  I  was  just  going  to  hide  in  your  barn,"  said 
the  thief,  "  when  I  met  you.  O  let  me  in  there, 
now  !  don't  betray  me  !  " 

Great  tears  were  rolling  down  his  bearded 
cheeks.  Ann  began  to  waver.  "  They  might  look 
in  the  barn,"  said  she  hesitatingly. 

The  man  followed  up  his  advantages.  "  Then 
hide  me  in  the  house,"  said  he.  "  I  have  a  daugh- 
ter at  home,  about  your  age.  She's  waiting  for 
me,  and  it's  long  she'll  wait,  and  sad  news  she'll 
get  at  the  end  of  the  waiting,  if  you  don't  help  me. 
She  hasn't  any  mother,  she's  a  little  tender  thing 
—  it'll  kill  her  ! "     He  groaned  as  he  said  it. 

The  voices  came  nearer.  Ann  hesitated  no 
longer.     "  Come,"  said  she,  "  quick  !  " 


THE    "  HORSE    HOUSE  "    DEED.  8^ 

Then  she  fled  into  the  house,  the  man  following. 
Inside,  she  bolted  the  door,  and  made  her  unwel- 
come guest  take  off  his  boots  in  the  kitchen,  and 
follow  her  softly  up  stairs  with  them  in  his  hand. 

Ann's  terror,  leading  him  up,  almost  over- 
whelmed her.  What  if  anybody  should  wake  ! 
Nabby  slept  near  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Luckily, 
she  was  a  little  deaf,  and  Ann  counted  on  that. 

She  conducted  the  man  across  a  little  entry  into 
a  back,  unfurnished  chamber  where,  among  other 
things,  were  stored  some  chests  of  grain.  The 
moon  shone  directly  in  the  window  of  the  attic- 
chamber,  so  it  was  light  enough  to  distinguish  ob- 
jects quite  plainly. 

Ann  tiptoed  softly  from  one  grain-chest  to  an- 
other. There  were  three  of  them.  Two  were 
quite  full ;  the  third  was  nearly  empty. 

"  Get  in  here,"  said  Ann.  "  Don't  make  any 
noise." 

He  climbed  in  obediently,  and  Ann  closed  the 
lid.  The  chest  was  a  rickety  old  affair  and  full  of 
cracks — there  was  no  danger  but  he  would  have 
air  enough.     She  heard  the  voices  out  in  the  yard, 


84  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

as  she  shut  the  lid.  Back  she  crept  softly  into  her 
own  room,  undressed  and  got  into  bed.  She  could 
hear  the  men  out  in  the  yard  quite  plainly.  "  We've 
lost  him  again,"  she  heard  one  of  them  say. 

Presently  Phineas  Adams  opened  a  window,  and 
shouted  out,  to  know  what  was  the  matter. 

"Seen  anything  of  the  horse-thief?  "  queried  a 
voice  from  the  yard. 

"  No  !  "  said  Phineas.  *'  I  have  been  asleep 
these  three  hours.     You  just  waked  me  up." 

"  He  was  hiding  under  the  meeting-house,"  said 
the  voice,  "  must  have  slipped  in  there  this  morn- 
ing, when  we  missed  him.  We  went  down  there 
and  watched  to-night,  and  almost  caught  him. 
But  he  disappeared  a  little  below  here,  and  we've 
lost  him  again.  It's  my  opinion  he's  an  evil  spirit 
in  disguise.  He  ran  like  the  wind,  in  amongst  the 
trees,  where  we  couldn't  follow  with  the  horses. 
Are  you  sure  he  did  not  skulk  in  here  somewhere .? 
Sim  White  thinks  he  did." 

"  I  knew  I  saw  him  turn  the  corner  of  the  lane," 
chimed  in  another  voice,  "  and  we've  scoured  the 
woods." 


THE    "  HORSE   HOUSE  "    DEED.  85 

"  I  think  we'd  better  search  the  barn,  anyhow," 
some  one  else  said,  and  a  good  many  murmured 
assent. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  I'll  be  down,"  said  Phineas, 
shutting  his  window. 

How  long  poor  Ann  lay  there  shaking,  she  never 
knew.  It  seemed  hours.  She  heard  Phineas  go 
down  stairs,  and  unlock  the  door.  She  heard  them 
tramp  into  the  barn.  "  O,  if  I  had  hidden  him 
there  !  "  she  thought. 

After  a  while,  she  heard  them  out  in  the 
yard  again.  "  He  could  not  have  gotten  into  the 
house,  in  any  way,"  she  heard  one  man  remark 
speculatively.  How  she  waited  for  the  response. 
It  came  in  Phineas  Adams'  slow,  sensible  tones : 
"  How  could  he  ?  Didn't  you  hear  me  unbolt  the 
door  when  I  came  out  ?  The  doors  are  all  fast- 
ened, I  saw  to  it  myself." 

"  Well,  of  course  he   didn't,"  agreed  the  voiec. 

At  last,  Phineas  came  in,  and  Ann  heard  them 
go.  She  was  so  thankful.  However,  the  future 
perplexities,  which  lay  before  her,  were  enough  to 
keep  her  awake  for  the  rest  of  the  night.     In  the 


86  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

morning,  a  new  anxiety  beset  her.  The  poor  thief 
must  have  some  breakfast.  She  could  easily  have 
smuggled  some  dry  bread  up  to  him ;  but  she  did 
want  him  to  have  some  of  the  hot  Indian  mush, 
which  the  family  had.  Ann,  impulsive  in  this  as 
everything,  now  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
protect  a  thief,  wanted  to  do  it  handsomely.  She 
did  want  him  to  have  some  of  that  hot  mush  ;  but 
how  could  she  manage  it  ? 

The  family  at  the  breakfast  table  discussed  the 
matter  of  the  horse-thief  pretty  thoroughly.  It  was 
a  hard  ordeal  for  poor  Ann,  who  could  not  take 
easily  to  deception.  She  had  unexpected  trouble 
too  with  Nabby.  Nabby  had  waked  up  the  pre- 
ceding night. 

"I  didn't  see  anything,"  proclaimed  Nabby; 
"but  I  heerd  a  noise.  I  think  there's  mice  out  in 
the  grain-chist  in  the  back  chamber." 

"  I  must  go  up  there  and  look,"  said  Mrs.  Polly. 
"  They  did  considerable  mischief,  last  year." 

Ann  turned  pale ;  what  if  she  should  take  it  into 
her  head  to  look  that  day ! 

She  watched  her  chance  very  narrowly  for  the 


THE  "  HORSE  HOUSE "  DEED.         87 

hot  mush ;  and  after  breakfast  she  caught  a  minute, 
when  Phineas  had  gone  to  work,  and  Mrs.  Polly 
was  in  the  pantry,  and  Nabby  down  cellar.  She 
had  barely  time  to  fill  a  bowl  with  mush,  and 
scud. 

How  lightly  she  stepped  over  that  back  chamber 
floor,  and  how  gingerly  she  opened  the  grain-chest 
lid.  The  thief  looked  piteously  out  at  her  from 
his  bed  of  Indian  corn.  He  was  a  handsome  man, 
somewhere  between  forty  and  fifty.  Indeed  he 
came  of  a  very  good  family  in  a  town  not  so  very 
far  away.  Horse-thiefs  numbered  some  very  re- 
spectable personages  in  their  clan  in  those  days 
sometimes. 

They  carried  on  a  whispered  conversation  while 
he  ate.  It  was  arranged  that  Ann  was  to  assist 
him  off  that  night. 

What  a  day  poor  Ann  had,  listening  and  watch- 
ing inconstant  terror  every  moment,  for  fearsome- 
thing  would  betray  her.  Beside,  her  conscience 
troubled  her  sadly ;  she  was  far  from  being  sure 
that  she  was  doing  right  in  hiding  a  thief  from  jus- 
tice.    But  the  poor  man's  tears,  and  the  mention 


88  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES« 

of  his  daughter,  had  turned  the  scale  with  her;  she 
could  not  give  him  up. 

Her  greatest  fear  was  lest  Mrs.  Polly  should 
take  a  notion  to  search  for  mice  in  the  grain-chests. 
She  so  hoped  Nabby  would  not  broach  the  sub- 
ject again.  But  there  was  a  peculiarity  about 
Nabby  —  she  had  an  exceedingly  bitter  hatred  of 
rats  and  mice.  Still  there  was  no  danger  of  her 
investigating  the  grain-chests  on  her  own  account, 
for  she  was  very  much  afraid.  She  would  not 
have  lifted  one  of  those  lids,  with  the  chance  of  a 
rat  or  mouse  being  under  it,  for  the  world.  If  ever 
a  mouse  was  seen  in  the  kitchen  Nabby  took  im- 
mediate refuge  on  the  settle  or  the  table  and  left 
some  one  else  to  do  the  fighting. 

So  Nabby,  being  so  constituted,  could  not  be 
easy  on  the  subject  this  time.  All  day  long  she 
heard  rats  and  mice  in  the  grain-chests ;  she 
stopped  and  listened  with  her  broom,  and  she 
stopped  and  listened  with  her  mop. 

Ann  went  to  look,  indeed  that  was  the  w^ay  she 
smuggled  the  thief's  dinner  to  him,  but  her  report 
of  nothing  the  matter  with  the  grain  did  not  satisfy 


THE    "  HORSE    HOUSE  "    DEED.  89 

Nabby.  She  had  more  confidence  in  Mrs.  Polly. 
But  Mrs.  Polly  did  not  offer  to  investigate  her- 
self until  after  supper.  They  had  been  very  busy 
that  day,  washing,  and  now  there  was  churning 
to  do.  Ann  sat  at  the  churn,  Mrs.  Polly  was  cut- 
ting up  apples  for  pies ;  and  Nabby  was  washing 
dishes,  when  the  rats  and  mice  smote  her  deaf 
ears  again. 

"I  knew  I  heerd  'em  then,"  she  said;  "I  don't 
believe  but  what  them  grain-chists  is  full  of  'em." 

"  I  am  going  to  look,"  quoth  Mrs.  Polly  then,  in 
a  tone  of  decision,  and  straightway  she  rose  and 
got  a  candle. 

Ann's  heart  beat  terribly.  "O,  I  wouldn't  go 
up  there  to-night,"  said  she. 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  going.  I'm  going  to  satisfy  Nabby 
about  the  rats  in  the  grain-chest,  if  I  can." 

She  was  out  the  door,  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
Nabby  behind  her,  dishcloth  and  plate  in  hand, 
peering  fearfully  over  her  shoulder.  Ann  was  in 
despair.  Only  one  chance  of  averting  the  dis- 
covery suggested  itself  to  her.  It  was  a  dreadful 
one,  but  she  took  it.     She  tipped  over  the  churn. 


90  STORIES    OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

"  O,  oh  ! "  she  screamed.  Back  rushed  Mrs.  Polly 
and  Nabby,  and  that  ended  the  rat-hunt  for  that 
night.  The  waste  of  all  that  beautiful  cream  was 
all  Mrs.  Polly  could  think  of  —  prudent  housewife 
that  she  was. 

So  in  the  night,  when  the  moon  was  up,  and  the 
others  were  sound  asleep,  Ann  assisted  her  thief 
safely  out  of  the  grain-chest  and  out  of  the  house. 
"  But,  first,"  said  Ann  Wales,  pausing  bravely,  with 
her  hand  on  the  grain-chest  lid,  speaking  in  a 
solemn  whisper,  "  before  I  let  you  out,  you  must 
make  me  a  promise." 

"What  ?  "  came  back  feebly. 

"  That  you  will  never,  never,  steal  a  horse  again. 
If  you  don't  promise,  1  will  give  you  up,  now." 

"  I  promise  I  won't,"  said  the  man  readily. 

Let  us  hope  he  never  did.  That,  speeding  out 
into  the  clear  winter  night,  he  did  bear  with  him  a 
better  determination  in  his  heart.  At  all  events, 
there  were  no  more  attempts  made  to  rob  the 
new  Horse- House  at  the  Braintree  meeting-house. 
Many  a  Sunday  after  that,  Red  Robin  stood  there 
peaceful    and  unmolested.     Occasionally,  as   the 


THE    "HORSE    HOUSE"    DEED.  9 1 

years  went  by,  he  was  tied,  of  a  Sunday  night,  in 
Mrs.  Polly  Wales'  barn. 

For,  by  and  by,  his  master,  good  brave  young 
John  Penniman,  married  Ann  Wales.  The  hand- 
somest couple  that  ever  went  into  the  meeting- 
house, jDeople  said.  Ann's  linen-chest  was  well 
stocked ;  and  she  had  an  immense  silk  bonnet, 
with  a  worked  white  veil,  a  velvet  cloak,  and  a 
flowered  damask  petticoat  for  her  wedding  attire. 
Even  Hannah  French  had  nothing  finer  when  she 
was  married  to  Phineas  Adams  a  year  later. 

All  the  drawback  to  the  happiness  was  that  John 
had  taken  some  land  up  in  Vermont,  and  there 
the  young  couple  went,  shortly  after  the  wedding. 
It  was  a  great  cross  to  Mrs.  Polly ;  but  she  bore 
it  bravely.  Not  a  tear  sparkled  in  her  black  eyes, 
watching  the  pair  start  off  down  the  bridle-path, 
riding  Red  Robin,  Ann  on  a  pillion  behind  her 
husband.  But,  sitting  down  beside  her  lonely 
hearth  when  she  entered  the  house,  she  cried 
bitterly.  "  I  did  hope  I  could  keep  Ann  with  me 
as  long  as  I  lived,"  she  sobbed. 

"  Don't  you  take  on,"  said  Nabby,  consolingly. 


92  STORIES   OF    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

"  You  take  my  word  for't,  they'll  be  back  'afore 
long." 

Nabby  proved  a  true  prophet.  Red  Robin  did 
come  trotting  back  from  the  Vermont  wilds,  bear- 
ing his  master  and  mistress  before  long.  Various 
considerations  induced  them  to  return  ;  and 
Mrs.  Polly  was  overjoyed.  They  came  to  live 
with  her. 

Riding  through  the  wilderness  to  Vermont  on 
their  wedding  journey,  Ann  had  confessed  to  her 
husband  how  she  had  secreted  the  thief  who  had 
tried  to  steal  his  Red  Robin.  She  had  been  afraid 
to  tell ;  but  he  had  turned  on  the  saddle,  and 
smiled  down  in  her  face.  "  I  am  content  that  the 
man  is  safe,"  said  John  Penniman.  "Prithee, 
why  should  I  wish  him  evil,  whilst  I  am  riding 
along  with  thee,  on  Red  Robin,  Ann?" 


S2- 


V/ 


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